by JA Huss
“He also told me you didn’t cash the check yet.”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t take that money. I shouldn’t have played that game. I shouldn’t have played any of them. It’s all fucked up, you guys.”
“What is?” Chella says.
“Me,” I say. “I’m so fucked up.” I lean forward, elbows on knees, staring down at my shoes. A position of defeat I’m starting to get used to.
“Is this about Augustine and Alexander? Did something happen?”
I shake my head, unable to look her in the face. “No, it’s not about them.”
“Then who?” Smith asks. “I’m fuckin’ buffed out these days, dude. Fighting those damn teenagers down at the gym has got me ripped. I can mess people up for you.”
I can’t help it, I laugh and look up at him.
“No shit, man. You need some muscle? I’m down.”
“I don’t need muscle, dumbass. I have Darrel and Finn, remember?”
He reaches out, fist first, and I lean forward and give him a bump.
“Then who?” Chella asks.
And then I have to make a decision. To pull out all my neatly-folded secrets or keep them packed up in that fucking suitcase I’m carrying around.
And I don’t know what it is about Chella that makes me want to confess things to her. What makes me want to hear her opinions and ask her advice. But I do.
So I start from the beginning. Not that night when I was twelve, that wasn’t the beginning. I start with the day the Club closed. How I drank myself unconscious. And then the games that came after. And Ixion, and all those messy feelings that come with him. And the house and why I can’t go home.
It ends with the night at the cabin when I was twelve and then I let out a long breath and wait for their judgment.
“Wow,” Chella says.
I look at Smith. He says, “Fuck… that… asshole.” And then he stands up and paces the floor. “Just fuck him. You know what, Jordan?”
“What?” I say, taken aback at his sudden anger.
He points his finger at me. “You don’t owe him shit, OK? You don’t owe him shit. You don’t owe him an explanation about who you are or what kind of people you want to share your intimate moments with. You don’t owe him a goddamned success story or… or… a fucking law career. Or even a fucking promise to do your best. Because his job was pretty simple. Be. Your. Father. That’s it. And you need to tell him that.”
“You think?”
“Smith,” Chella says, interrupting. “I mean, he should do what he wants. Don’t tell him that.”
“No,” Smith says, shaking his head. Still pacing the floor back and forth in front of the kitchen island. “No. I did that, Jordan. I didn’t confront them. And I don’t know Ixion but I know his story. He didn’t confront his father either. But you know what?” And now he’s looking at Chella.
“What?” she says, pouting her lips.
“We confronted your father.” He says it in a very low, even tone. Smith pivots his head to look at me now. “And that asshole didn’t have a regretful bone in his body. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. Why are people so uptight about this shit? I mean, good God, dude. He was afraid you were gay so he bought you sex at twelve? How does that even make sense?”
“I dunno,” I whisper. “It doesn’t. I think that’s why it bothers me so much. Like… what was he thinking? How could he be so… I dunno. Careless with me?”
“No,” Chella says. “No, it bothers you because it was wrong. It bothers you because he’s supposed to love you unconditionally. It bothers you because he was your father and in his eyes, you were less than perfect. And I know I’m going to make mistakes with Daniel. We both are. But we will never make him feel bad about being himself. Ever.”
Smith just looks at her. He looks at her like she’s a goddess. Like she’s an endless fountain of wisdom and strength. Like there is no love greater than this love he feels for his wife. And then he gives her one of this infamous Smith smiles and nods. “Ever,” he echoes.
I end up staying the night in one of the second-floor guest rooms. And in the morning Smith hands me a suit from his closet and says, “Gotta run. But we’re pretty close to the same size, so have a suit on me. Coffee’s in the kitchen, Chella’s sleeping, and if you need to sleep here tonight too, just… you know.” He shrugs. “Show up. You’re always welcome here.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Hey, I once spent years bouncing around from friend to friend, making them support me because I refused to own anything, that’s how afraid I was of turning into my father. I get you,” he says, pointing at me. “We get you. And we got you, too. You need someone to kill your old man?”
I laugh, I can’t help it.
“I’m your guy, Jordan. Just say the word.”
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing the suit. “I needed to hear that. But,” I add quickly, just in case he’s serious, “I’m gonna pass on the offer.”
He shoots me with his finger. “Offer stands. Forever.”
It occurs to me, as I drive into work, that I have a lot of pretty cool friends.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I want to avoid my father today, but of course there he is standing at the reception desk talking to Gail, who outs me with a cheery, “Hope you’re feeling better today, Jordan.”
My father turns and smiles. Because he has no clue what’s inside me. None. I mean, why should he? It’s been more than fifteen years since that night at the cabin. If it ever bothered him, that passed. Long ago. “Sorry to hear you were sick, Jordan. Why didn’t you call your mother? She’d have brought you some chicken soup. You know how good it is.” He chuckles, squeezing my arm as we walk into the private reception area and head down the hallway to our offices.
“It wasn’t that kind of sick, Dad. I just needed a break, that’s all.”
“Oh. Things come up in your little”—he cups his hand to his mouth and whispers—“game?”
“No, Dad. No. I was just overworked, I think. I just needed some time.” And this is something I don’t get either. The fact that he kinda knows what I do on the side. I mean, he doesn’t have details or anything, and he certainly doesn’t know anything about killing Chella’s father or taking down a couple of corrupt FBI agents, but he knows I run this little fantasy game.
He claps me on the back and says, “I’m back with you. So where have your friends been, Jordan?”
For a second I think he’s referring to Augustine and Alexander. But then I realize he’s talking about Finn and Darrel. “They’re not friends, Dad. They’re business associates. And we’re…” I shrug. “Not very busy at the moment, so I dunno where they are. Doing whatever they do.”
“Good,” he says. “Good. Is there a new girl in your life?”
I stop in the hallway just outside my office. “Why are you asking me all these questions?” It comes out haughty. Because I am. Being haughty, that is.
“You caught me.” He laughs.
“Caught you doing what?”
“Your mother. She’s been after me to get you over for dinner because she wants to set you up with the daughter of one of her friends.”
“No,” I say. My mother pulls this at least twice a year. Most of the time I successfully avoid the painful blind date, but every once in a while, she sneaks one in on me and then pretends she didn’t have anything to do with it.
“I told her you wouldn’t be receptive. But she wants to ask you herself. So I told her you’d come over for dinner tonight. Be there at seven.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, reaching out to grab his arm. “I’m not coming.”
“Oh, tonight is not the date. There’s no surprise girl jumping our from under the dining room table, I promise you. Now I gotta go. First day back after the tests—”
“Hey, how did that go?”
“I’m fine,” he says, his smile wide as it ever was. “Just fine. See you tonight.”
With that he walks off.
; I shut my office door, sit down at my desk, and pull up my calendar.
Blank.
I push the button on my phone for Eileen. “Yes, Jordan?”
“Why is my calendar empty?”
“Oh, your father said to clear it. Said you needed a day off.”
“What did I have on there? Did I have court?”
“No, no,” Eileen replies. “It was just some paperwork today. I have your paralegal on it. No need to worry.”
I slump back in my chair. “Thanks.”
I think.
Like what is going on with my father?
My phone buzzes in my coat pocket, so I take it out and look at the screen. Augustine.
For a moment I hesitate. Because I don’t really want to talk to them. I don’t think this is working. I mean, I like them. It’s fun and it feels good, but… seriously, where do I think this is going?
And for that matter, where am I going?
I let Augustine go to voicemail and instead press the contact for my real-estate agent, Lawton Ayers.
“Hey,” he says, unceremoniously. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Yeah, why’s that?”
“That house you have? The mansion everyone’s so keen to know more about these days?”
“What about it?”
“I have a buyer.”
“It’s not for sale. Unless it’s Ixion. Is it Ixion?”
“No, it’s a corporation.”
“What corporation?”
“Something called…” There’s a shuffling of papers on the other end of the phone. “Standard License LLC.”
“So a shell corporation?”
“Looks like it.”
“Why is everyone so interested in this house?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing. I mean, it’s a cool house, no doubt. But it was on the market for over a month last year before you bought it. So why now? Why didn’t they swoop in when they could get it at foreclosure pricing?”
“I have no clue,” I say absently. Weird.
“So what’d you want?”
“Oh, well. Ironically, I was calling about the house. So… Evangeline told me what happened to that family.”
“Yeah, that sucks, right? So sad.”
“Yeah. Sad.”
“Uh… and?” Law says. “What about it?”
“I dunno. It’s just weird.”
“I can’t say I disagree, but… I can’t say why I feel that way, either.”
“Find out who owns that shell, can you do that?”
“Probably not.” He laughs. “I mean, they have a shell for a reason, right? Better get one of your guys on that if you need that kind of digging.” And then he pauses. “Everything OK with you?”
“Yup,” I say. “Thanks.” And then I end the call.
But something is not OK. I just can’t figure out what it is.
Everything seems just a little out of whack. Like the world has tilted. Shifted while I wasn’t looking.
Augustine and Alexander came back this year. Right after that game I set up with Evangeline and Ixion.
So really… Augustine and Alexander came back at the same time as Ixion.
Yeah. Didn’t really put those two things together before now. I was avoiding Augustine last winter. Didn’t want anything to do with her. With them.
But how did they get here? I mean, I get it. Sort of. They were having trouble, they said. Thought I was their answer.
But why now? After all these years? Because they were having trouble long before now. They separated years ago. Got back together years ago. So what’s been going on between then and now? That’s something they never shared with me.
I call Law back and when he picks up and says, “What now?” I say, “Get that contract ready for the sale of the old Turning Point. I’m buying it in about…” I check my calendar to see when my three-week deal with Augustine is up. “Ten days.”
Law laughs. “Uh… well. I don’t know what to say to that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not for sale.”
“Yeah, but you said Augustine and Alexander own the shell. And we’ve got a deal in place. So in ten days they’re selling it to me. No questions asked.”
“OK,” Law says, still hesitating. “Do they have an agent?”
“Shit. I dunno. Just be prepared. I want that deal done the second I’m eligible. I’ve got cash saved so it should go quick.”
“What are you gonna do with it?”
“Open it back up.” I laugh. “What the fuck else would I do with it?”
We say goodbye and hang up and then I just sit there for a second.
Because… am I going to open it back up?
Suddenly I’m not so sure.
So I just sit there in my office thinking. Nothing to do today except think.
I go back eight months to the house. Because for some reason everything goes back to that house.
I call Evangeline.
“Hey, Jordan, what’s up?” She sounds out of breath, like she’s been running.
“Am I interrupting something?” I ask.
“No, not really. I’m walking the treadmill as I play the violin. It’s a training exercise. I have a show planned for late fall and I’m trying to step up my game and… you know, do something kinda flashy. I’m tired of classical music and why should I have to sit down or stand still while I play? You ever see fiddlers, Jordan?”
“Fiddlers?” I ask, suddenly lost.
“Yeah, you know how they go crazy on stage and do these little dances and shit? I think I want to be a fiddler. I’m putting the band back together.”
Which makes me huff out a laugh. I thought Evangeline was kinda stuffy and uptight when I first met her. But I was wrong. She’s kinda… funny. And weird. But in a cool way.
“What band?” I ask. Because I can’t not ask.
“That was a joke. I don’t have a band. But I’m gonna get one. I’m having auditions and I’m gonna put together a fiddler band. You know anyone who plays the banjo?”
This time I don’t hold in the laugh. It comes out like a guffaw. “Oh, my God. You just made my day. But no, I don’t know any banjo players.”
“I know,” she says. And I can almost hear her smile. “I just wanted to throw you off balance today and make you happy because Ixion came home last night and… wow. Whatever you guys did, it made him happy. I wanted to make you happy back. So what’d you need?”
“You know my house?”
“Yeah?”
“You never told me their name. Who was that family?”
I write down the name, tell her good luck with the fiddler band, and hang up.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes. It’s Augustine again.
But I let her go to voicemail as I walk out of my office and tell everyone I’ll be back tomorrow.
Because I’m dialing Darrel’s number.
At six forty-five I’m sitting in my car down the street from my parents’ home, waiting for Darrel’s call. I feel sick. Like… wanna-throw-up sick. I don’t know why. It’s just that feeling you get in your gut when someone unleashes a secret you didn’t see coming. Some terrible thing, only it didn’t just happen. It’s been happening for a long time and you never knew about it.
A girl cheated on me once. I was in college at Stanford and I was like, I dunno. Nineteen. And we’d been going out for a while. Like all through freshman year and into sophomore year. A pretty long time for college. And I really thought I loved this girl. Like couldn’t eat kinda love, ya know? The kind that just stops your life and you feel like you can’t go on without them. Can’t work, or pay attention to anything. Can’t imagine living without them. Or you can, it just looks like misery.
And she’d dodge my calls. Not show up for dates. Shit like that. And I’d ask her, “Are you seeing someone else? Do you wanna break up?” Because that’s how I deal with conflict. I just want the truth.
And she’d always s
ay, “No, of course not. I love you.”
And that was all I wanted to hear. All I needed to hear. OK, she loves me. And she’d stick around for a week or two and everything would be great.
But it always happened again.
She’d just ghost me. Just disappear and forget about me.
And then I wound up in this downward spiral of depression. I lived in this stupid apartment off-campus in sophomore year and I can remember so clearly sitting in bed listening for the sound of her shoes on the metal stairs outside that led up to the apartment.
Like… I knew that sound. I knew it. And every time someone else would come up the stairs, like a neighbor, I’d hope it was her, but I knew it wasn’t.
And it wasn’t.
I almost failed two classes that fall semester. That’s how off my game she had me. And looking back, God, why? Why did I act that way? I don’t miss her. So that love wasn’t real.
But she consumed me. She ate me up from the inside out.
Because I knew she was cheating. I knew it. I just let her lie to me because it made me feel better. Made the food go down. Made me able to study for a few hours. Made the day pass.
And after she ghosted she’d always come back. Why? Like just why did she come back?
That’s the part that fucked me up so badly.
Because the truth is she was using me. It was a plan. It was plotted. She needed me. For money, for a place to live every time she couldn’t pay her rent and asked to crash at my place. And I’d be like, “Just move in. Then you don’t have to worry about it. Just move in and be with me. Use my car, here, take my credit card and buy whatever you need.”
And she stayed that last time. Said OK and took everything I offered her.
But she didn’t stop. And she didn’t start loving me either.
Instead of me calling her obsessively, or driving by her apartment to see if she was there with someone else, or asking my friends if they’d seen her, I just… I just stayed home in bed, listening for her footsteps on the stairs.
Waiting for her key in the lock.
Hoping she’d come back because somehow she’d made it so I couldn’t live without her.
How do people do that?
