by J P Barnaby
His day had just gone from bad to worse.
“Yeah,” Anthony called, coming up the middle aisle between the different styles of wine. The whites, the reds, the sparkling, they all mocked him as he passed. Each shiny bottle poised for sale, perfectly attuned to its place in the world.
Patrick asked Kevin to take over up front and then jerked his head toward the front door.
“Let’s take a walk.”
Anthony wondered if that was some kind of boss code for “you’re fired,” but followed anyway. Once they passed the edge of the parking lot, they turned left toward the busier part of town.
“You hungry?” Patrick asked as Anthony recognized the path to the pizza place.
“No, I just threw a mostly uneaten pizza in the cooler.” He caught the expression of surprise on Patrick’s face, so like Bren’s, it hurt to look at.
“Okay, let’s just sit and have a Coke, then. Is that cool?”
He walked beside Patrick until they reached the pizza place, which seemed to be pretty dead, even for a Monday. Instead of going up to the counter, he grabbed a booth in the back while Patrick got their drinks. If the man was going to fire him, the least he could do was pay for the fucking pop.
Two minutes passed, and then five while Anthony sat waiting for the future to close in around him. The room seemed to be doing a brilliant job of that all on its own. It felt confining and dark, even though it looked the same as every other time he’d been in there.
Patrick came back with two cups, a slice balanced on one of them. After setting his haul on the table, he dropped down into the booth across from Anthony and sighed.
“If you’re going to fire me, just do it already.” Anthony’s patience snapped against the strain of the day. He grabbed the straw and slammed it against the table to pop open the paper, bending it to fuck in the process.
“What? Why would I fire you?” Patrick’s face paled as he looked at Anthony with wide, shocked eyes. Whatever the conversation would be about, apparently that wasn’t it.
“For pissing off your brother. Isn’t it his store?”
“My brother is always pissed off. Of course I’m not going to fire you.”
“I figured you’d want me gone. He certainly does.”
“Even if he did, it’s not like I’d let you just leave with nowhere else to go.”
“I have somewhere else to go.” Anthony leaned against the back of the booth and leveled Patrick an even stare.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard from Jay today. He and his dad are coming to meet me tonight.” Anthony shrugged and took a drink from his cup. Patrick sat completely still. Not even his eyelids moved as the shock in his face moved to anger.
“So, he just called you out of the blue?”
“E-mailed, actually.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Patrick glanced around and nodded apologetically at the older couple seated a few booths down as they tsked at him.
“Your brother doesn’t want me. Sean doesn’t want me. Maybe Jay does. I’m fucking sick of being unwanted.”
“Do you hear yourself? You sound like a child, Anthony. You’re not just going to sell yourself off to the highest bidder, hoping that someone pats you on the head.” Patrick threw his hands up in frustration.
“Fuck you, Patrick.”
“Where are you meeting him?”
“None of your—”
“Where?” Patrick growled, and Anthony didn’t think he’d ever seen Patrick so angry, not even the night he’d busted up the store.
“They’re meeting me at the Sunoco across the street.”
“When?”
Anthony sighed. He didn’t really have any reason not to tell Patrick except pure stubbornness. Besides, he’d only recently been given a key to the store. If the thing with Jay fell through, he didn’t want to have to go back to having a curfew.
“Eight.”
“I’ll be there.”
“What?”
“If you’re going, I’m going. I’m not going to let you go alone to meet the creepy fucking stranger that wanted to drag you out behind that bookstore and do God knows what to you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know that. I’ve seen that since you’ve been here. You’re incredibly resilient. But what I’m telling you, Anthony, is that you don’t have to do everything alone.”
Anthony’s chest tightened, as if something inside of him grew too big to fit. It burned, and he closed his eyes against the weight of it. He’d only ever relied on Allen, and Allen had left. Now he was starting to rely on Patrick and Bren.
Bren.
Goddamn it.
“Fine.”
They sat across from each other in the booth. Awkward silence built between them, clogging the air, swirling with the smell of garlic and the sounds of clashing pans until Anthony couldn’t stand it.
“You said you wanted to talk to me about something?” he prompted.
Patrick shook his head. “After that, I’d almost forgotten. I wanted to talk to you about Bren.”
“Not a chance.” Anthony slid to his right. His ass had just hit the edge of the booth when Patrick put a hand on his to stop him.
“Please.”
The expression Patrick wore, open and pleading, pushed him back into the booth. He’d just promised to be there for Anthony later that evening when he met Jay. Maybe to protect him, maybe just for support, but Anthony owed it to Patrick to listen.
“I don’t know what there is to say. He thinks I’m sleeping with Sean. I don’t know why he even cares. It’s not like he wants to, you know, get together.”
“You need to understand,” Patrick started. He glanced out the window beside them, as though maybe he was trying to find the words. “Bren was a different person before the shooting. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. School, sports, friends—I envied him, to be honest. Nothing ever came that easy to me. I always wanted him to do something amazing with his life, not just run a liquor store. But in a horribly selfish way, I’m glad he wanted to do it, because I never did. I guess this is karma’s way of biting me in the ass.”
“Sean told me some about what Bren was like. But it doesn’t matter what he was like, Patrick. I never knew that Bren.”
“He’s abrasive and angry, totally self-contained inside that house and his head. I don’t know what to do for him.” Patrick leaned forward, his expression earnest. “But he’s been different since you showed up. Not like he wants to try to live again, but maybe like he’d consider trying. If that makes any sense.”
“Yeah, I lived with Aaron for almost a decade. It took a long time for him to want to leave the house. I don’t know what made him go to college, but that’s where he met Spencer and it helped. Not falling in love with Spencer, but getting out of the house, meeting his therapist, and figuring out that there’s a world outside our front door. I guess I just figured that out too.”
“A world with Sean?” Patrick probed.
“Sean and I aren’t together. He wanted to fuck at the beach; I said no. I didn’t want that. Not with him.” Anthony glanced out the window.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t want to.”
“Because of Bren?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Anthony, no matter how you feel about Bren, at least be his friend. He really needs that right now whether he wants it or not.”
Anthony huffed out a breath. “I don’t know what I want, to be honest. I’ve never had choices like this before. It’s always been whatever was best for Aaron, that’s what my family did. I know I want to meet Jay. I know I want to keep working for you. I know I want you and Bren in my life. Beyond that, I have no idea what’s going to happen.”
“Me either, Anthony, but if you want, we can figure it out together.”
“Because I remind you of your brother.”
“No, actually. Not anymore. You and I have more in common than y
ou and he have. Life has done its best to kick your ass, and you’re not only standing, you’re stronger. That’s what I want for Bren.”
Anthony had no idea what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.
He just waited for the storm.
Eighteen
THE CLOCK in Patrick’s head banged with each tick as he waited for the storm. He didn’t know what would happen when Anthony came down from the apartment to meet this “Jay.” He didn’t know how he would face his brother if he let Anthony leave with a stranger.
Most of all, he didn’t know how to make any of it stop.
“Are you going to hang around here all day?” Kevin asked as he filled open spots in the pints on the shelf behind the register. Two Smirnoff, a couple of Crowns, and one Grey Goose they hadn’t had to restock in a while.
“I have some paperwork to do. Got a problem?”
“Other than the fact that you’re not actually doing paperwork? Nope.”
Patrick pulled a stack of invoices toward him, rattling them so Kevin would see, and then stared right past the sheets of paper. He’d pay them. Maybe not right then, but eventually. He flipped the pages again and wondered why he gave a shit what Kevin thought. He’d never really liked the man. His father hadn’t either. But he showed up on time, had little ambition to change jobs, and didn’t bitch too much. The perfect employee.
“Hey kid, it’s gonna storm later. Be careful,” Kevin called out, and Patrick glanced up to see Anthony walking to the front doors.
“Thanks, Kevin. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Patrick half stood up, his knees slamming on the fucking keyboard drawer he kept meaning to take out. It took a second, but he slumped back into his chair. If Anthony wanted his company, he’d have asked, and now Patrick had bruises.
After an hour of Kevin’s sideways glances, he’d had enough. He still had an hour and a half before this stupid meeting took place. His bones ached with the anticipation of it, and he couldn’t keep his body in the chair. Though he didn’t think he’d have much of an appetite, Patrick headed out of the office with a wave at Kevin. He hit the sidewalk and went right, where his favorite sushi place happened to be.
He’d just pulled the handle on the door when he saw Anthony turn the corner and head up the block toward him. He seemed to be in his own world, staring at the sidewalk before his feet. Patrick ducked into the restaurant and watched him pass. Nothing fazed him—not the bird that swooped over his head or the shriek of a car horn as it passed.
“Just one, Mr. Patrick?”
“Just one today,” Patrick told the kind older hostess who sat him almost every time he frequented the place. She led him to a table in front of a window near the front door. Patrick looked out toward the sidewalk, but Anthony had gone. For a moment, he wondered if the boy had wandered back up to the apartment, but then the waitress came and offered him green tea.
He didn’t need a menu. A creature of habit, he always ordered edamame to hold him over until his spider roll arrived. That visit was no exception, and he munched mindlessly on the beans while he stared out the window.
A shadow passed over his face, and he glanced up just as Anthony passed by the window again. He wore the same grim expression, still pointed toward the sidewalk. The kid must have been walking aimlessly around the block trying to work something out. He considered having Anthony come inside and talk about it, but some things you just had to figure out for yourself. Besides, they’d already talked about it.
His phone buzzed as he unwrapped the chopsticks.
Why is he walking circles around the block?
Patrick should have known Bren would be watching. He was always watching.
He’s thinking.
The waitress arrived with his roll, and he picked up the first piece as his phone buzzed again. He popped the sushi in his mouth and took a minute before checking his text.
About what?
He didn’t want to tell Bren about Anthony’s meeting later with this “Jay.” As the previous few weeks had proven, stress wasn’t something his brother dealt with well, especially when he could do nothing about it. Helplessness seemed to be Bren’s constant companion, and Patrick refused to add to it.
You.
At least that was partly the truth.
Me?
Oh for the love of God.
He likes you Bren. Not just as a buddy to watch movies with. You have to know this. But you took his fucking head off for no reason. He isn’t sleeping with Sean. He told Sean no, and I’m pretty sure it was because of you.
The phone stayed silent for a while, long enough for Patrick to eat two more pieces of his roll. Then he took a drink of his tea. And still, he waited.
Finally, his phone buzzed again.
What am I supposed to do with that?
Well, at least it wasn’t a flat-out denial. That meant something.
I know you care about him. Tell him that.
He didn’t get another text after that, and he didn’t expect to. Bren had always been one to work things out on his own. Lately, he needed a general push in the right direction, but aside from his trauma issues, he usually found his way. Patrick hoped he would with Anthony too.
Speaking of Anthony, he was passing by the window yet again, and Patrick glanced at his watch. Seven thirty. He called for the check and watched out the window while he waited. Anthony had given up the chase around the block and simply stood in front of the liquor store, off to the side of the windows, where Kevin wouldn’t see him. He stared across the street at the gas station, and Patrick wondered if Anthony saw the same threats in the shadows that Patrick saw.
He left cash on the table and headed out. Anthony didn’t look away from the Sunoco but half smiled anyway.
“I thought you’d given up the ghost and gone home.”
“Not a chance.”
“Whatever happens, thank you.”
Patrick didn’t want to consider the “whatever happens” part of the equation. He wouldn’t let Anthony go with them, he knew that. It was just a matter of figuring out how to get him to stop.
“I heard from Bren.”
“Yeah?” Anthony turned for the first time and drew his gaze away from the gas station. He watched Patrick, apprehension clear in his eyes.
“He wanted to know why you were walking around in circles.”
“Fuck, I forgot about the stupid cameras. Did you tell him about tonight?”
“No, I told him you were thinking about him.”
“That’s not a lie.”
“I know.”
They both stared across the street, waiting in the calm before the storm. Patrick had no idea what thoughts ran through Anthony’s head. Anticipation, fear, longing—nothing showed in his expression. It appeared oddly blank.
Patrick checked the time on his phone.
Ten minutes.
“Do you want to head over there? Maybe wander through the junk food while we wait?” Patrick asked, bumping Anthony’s arm with his own. Anthony took a long, slow, deep breath and stopped a beat before answering.
“I’m not hungry, not in the least. I still have an entire pizza waiting in the cooler, but anything beats standing here watching the fucking traffic.”
They strode side by side past the little sushi place and to the corner. Patrick jammed his finger against the button that would change the Walk sign, and they waited in silence. Nothing more needed to be said. Nothing would dissuade Anthony. All Patrick could do was watch and hope.
The sign changed, and they made their way to the opposite corner, turning left in the direction of the gas station. One step turned to two, which turned to ten as Patrick scanned the area for any sign of the people they were there to meet. A black woman talked on her cell phone as she pumped gas into a Civic. At the next pump, two teenaged boys talked beside a beat-up turquoise Camaro as they waited anxiously to continue their lives after such a menial task.
No teenaged boy with his father.
The
y stood off to the side, near the corner of the building and watched the traffic on the road beyond. A pickup truck, a beat-to-fuck Ford, a couple of motorcycles—the real kind, not the crotch rockets—but still no sign of anyone who fit Anthony’s description of Jay.
Eight o’clock.
Eight ten.
Eight fifteen.
Still nothing.
Anthony fidgeted, putting his foot up behind him on the building, leaning, squatting on his heels, energy bursting from every inch of his five-foot-ten frame. The anxiety bled from him and into Patrick, and he hated it. He hated waiting for the world to end.
A car pulled into the gas station, headlights blazing in the low dusk. A monster of a car, it had once been something of an olive color, but dirt muted the shade. Patrick didn’t know what kind it was, but it had to be something out of the seventies. Only SUVs were that big now. It pulled past the pumps and around to the parking spaces on the far side of the building. It didn’t coast into one as Patrick expected, but cut across a couple, pointed at the exit. Patrick pulled out his phone and took a couple of sly pictures of the car and its plate. He wanted a few of the driver, but the passenger-side door was to him, and he couldn’t get a clear shot.
Three people sat in the car, two in the front, one in the back. He could only see the passenger in the front seat clearly, a teenage boy with such emptiness in his eyes that it chilled him. The boy didn’t look happy to see Anthony. He didn’t jump out of the car with delight. Instead, he simply watched Anthony from the window.
The back door opened, and a voice called for Anthony to get in.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Patrick grumbled at Anthony. “Don’t you go anywhere near that car.” He pushed Anthony back and approached the car, cell phone in hand. He got a glimpse of the dirty twentysomething guy in the backseat before someone yelled for Anthony again, an older, harder voice.
Patrick was standing two feet from the open door when the boy’s eyes met his. He didn’t speak, but a single tear ran down his cheek, glistening in the light of a nearby streetlamp. He was undoubtedly the kid from the picture in Anthony’s backpack, everything from the curls to the eyes to the sorrow. He wanted to open the front door and pull the kid out, but the back door slammed in front of him and the car took off without another word.
