The Pull of Destiny

by Hotcheri

  My mind mulled over a devilishly conniving idea. Would it be considered meddling if I went to see CiCi's aunt and asked her for her dad’s information?

  Yes. Totally.

  But why would Aunt Kelly not tell me, especially when CiCi seemed like she wanted to know? It might make her day, just knowing that her dad was out there somewhere and she could get in touch with him. And goodness knows, CiCi deserved some good to come her way.

  Trying to find out from Aunt Kelly wouldn't hurt. If she refused to tell me anything, at least I tried. And if she decided to tell me who CiCi's dad was- well, that was another story.

  I made up my mind not to tell CiCi's aunt about the abuse she was receiving at the hands of Nate, though. It was CiCi's decision whether she wanted to tell her aunt or not. If it was up to me, I would have told her that day CiCi got beaten up by Nate, but CiCi clearly couldn't bring herself to tell her. And I didn't want to be the one who caused the drama. I didn't want CiCi to hate me for it.

  CiCi's Apartment Building

  The cab parked outside CiCi's housing unit, the driver gunning the engine as though he just couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. I knew how he felt. This wasn't a neighborhood you wanted to get stranded in. Dope dealers lounged against the graffiti covered walls, watching me as I pulled my hood up and walked into the building. The wail of police sirens made me feel even more nervous, and as I walked up the stairs to CiCi's apartment, I kept expecting to run into a drunken Nate. Not exactly a comforting thought.

  I made it up to CiCi's front door, trying to step as lightly as I could. Those floorboards were as creaky as they came. The last thing I wanted to do was fall through into someone else's ceiling. Raising my hand, I knocked on the door, picking flecks of peeling paint from my knuckles.

  Time to think up a game plan. Even though I knew why I was there, I had no idea what I was going to say to CiCi's aunt. Stupid of me, I should have planned it all out in my head in the cab ride over here, but I got distracted every time I thought about that scar under CiCi’s eye. So sue me.

  Oh, well. When in doubt, improvise.

  I took a deep breath as I heard shuffling steps coming from inside the apartment and hoped that what CiCi had said about Nate being out was true. How late was 'late' in Celsi speak? Because if he was already back from his boozing, I was about to be in a lot of trouble as soon as the door opened.

  The door opened a crack and an eye squinted at me. I breathed a sigh of relief. Not Nate. Thank God.

  “Yes? Can I help you?” Aunt Kelly asked crisply, her voice sounding like her nose was stuffed up.

  Putting on my fake smile, I said, “Hi, Mrs. Grant, my name is Luke Astor. I'm Celsi's friend.”

  She opened the door a little wider, a look of recognition mixed with puzzlement flitting across her face. “Oh, yes, I remember you. How are you?” she asked politely.

  “I'm good, how about you?”

  Manners are important. I was there to obtain information, so every little thing helped.

  A watchful look on her face, like she didn't quite trust me, Aunt Kelly replied, “I have a little bit of a cold, but I'll live. Unfortunately, you're out of luck today. Celsi's at work.”

  “I know,” I said, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “That's actually why I'm here. I wanted to talk to you about Celsi.”

  The puzzlement on Aunt Kelly's face turned to confusion as she looked at me. “You want to talk to me about Celsi?” she repeated. “I don't understand. In relation to what?”

  My answer was blunt and to the point.

  “I want to ask you about her dad.”

  Aunt Kelly pursed up her lips, eying me silently for a long minute. Just as I thought she was about to slam the door shut in my face, she opened it wider.

  “Perhaps you'd better come in,” she said, gesturing for me to enter.

  I walked in to the drafty apartment, waiting until Aunt Kelly closed the door before following her to the sparsely furnished living room.

  She sat down heavily on the couch and pointed to a straight backed chair opposite, indicating that I should sit. I sat, feeling a little like I was about to be interrogated.

  Leaning forward in my chair, I decided to break the uncomfortable silence. “Mrs. Grant-,” I started.

  Aunt Kelly raised her hand to stop me. “Before you start, let me ask you this one question. Did Celsi send you here?”

  I shook my head immediately. “No. She doesn't even know I'm here.”

  “So you decided that just showing up unannounced on her doorstep to ask me about her father was a good idea?”

  Judging from the look on Aunt Kelly's face, maybe it wasn't a good idea. But I was here now, and I was going to get answers to my questions or die trying.

  “Even though Celsi didn't tell me to come and ask you about her dad, I-,” I started. Aunt Kelly interrupted me again.

  “Took it upon yourself to ask me for her?” A distinctly hostile tone in her voice, Aunt Kelly continued. “What does this have to do with you?”

  “I just think that Celsi deserves to know about her dad! Who he is, where he is- don't you think she has the right to know? Don't you think her dad has the right to find out about the beautiful daughter he's missing out on knowing?” I asked in a passionate rush.

  For a second, as Aunt Kelly's eyes narrowed to slits and her lips tightened, I thought I'd gone too far. In fact, I was almost on the edge of my seat, ready to stand up and be escorted to the door when she asked, “Why are you doing this? Asking me about Celsi's dad, I mean. What could you possibly stand to gain from knowing his name or anything about him?”

  “Because I know that, even though she doesn't say anything about it, Celsi really wants to meet her dad.” I paused. “Did she tell you about my bucket list?”

  “Yes, she did,” Aunt Kelly replied.

  “Well, one day she told me that one of her biggest wishes was to meet her dad. I just want to make that wish come true. She deserves that much, especially after helping me out so much when she didn't need or have to,” I continued.

  Aunt Kelly looked at me for a long while. Finally, just as I was starting to get nervous, she said, “No. I mean, why are you really doing this? Don't give me any hokey story about 'wishes', either.” She smiled, the first genuine smile she'd given me since I walked through the door. “I'm old enough to sense crap when I hear it. Let's not play games here.”

  I stared at her. What did she want me to say? I'd already told her the reason I wanted to help find CiCi's dad- to make her wish come true. There was nothing more I could add to that.

  Except for the truth.

  That little voice in my head which had the tendency to pop up unwanted was at it again with a vengeance.

  You know, the real reason you want CiCi around, helping you with your list. The real reason you get fired up and pissed off whenever you see her bruised up. The real reason you hate seeing her sad and love to see her smile.

  Opening my mouth, I looked Aunt Kelly right in her face and said, “Because I think I'm falling in love with your niece.”

  Sometimes I speak without thinking and realize that I've just said the smartest thing possible.

  That was one of the times.

  Aunt Kelly went still, her eyes still on me. Finally she nodded, as I was wondering what I had just said and knowing that I meant every word of it. “There we go.” She was silent for a few seconds. “There's no conceivable way you two will ever be together, you know that. You're an Astor, an heir living on Park Avenue. Celsi is the daughter of a teen junkie.” Her face was filled with sadness and pain as she looked at me. “It can't work. Life and circumstances will keep you apart.”

  I shrugged. Like today was the first time I'd heard that! “Funny, that's what everybody keeps telling me,” I replied.

  “And what do you say?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Are you really serious about this?” Aunt Kelly asked rapidly, wrapping her scarf around her as a particul
arly gusty draft blew through the room. I noticed that one of the windows was covered with cardboard.

  Running a hand through my hair, I asked, “About what?” in a confused tone.

  “Celsi.”

  “Of course I am, Mrs. Grant! She's really special to me.”

  Dryly, Aunt Kelly said, “I'm beginning to realize that. I just don't want to see her hurt.”

  “I'm the last person who would ever hurt her.”

  “I beg to differ,” Aunt Kelly said, folding her hands in her lap. “You've hurt her in the past.”

  Biting my lip apprehensively, I nodded in agreement. She was right. I had hurt CiCi before in the past. “I know. But she's given me another chance.”

  Aunt Kelly pondered this for a second, then came at me with another roadblock. “What if Celsi's dad doesn't want to meet her? That would crush her.”

  “She won't ever have to know that I even contacted him if he decides he doesn't want to meet her. I swear, Mrs. Grant, I have Celsi's best interests at heart.”

  Heaving a deep breath, Aunt Kelly quietly asked, “What if he does want to meet her and takes her away from me?”

  I frowned slightly at the tone in Aunt Kelly's voice. Jealousy? That's what was preventing her from telling CiCi about her dad? It all made sense, as annoying as it was. Maybe Aunt Kelly had a valid reason for wanting CiCi to herself since she raised her singlehandedly, but it wasn't a tug-of-war game. CiCi's dad had the right to know that he had a daughter, whether he wanted anything to do with her or not.

  “You of all people should realize that Celsi's dad taking her would be a blessing,” I started, trying to keep from blowing my top and going off on her. It was hard enough trying not to tell her about Nate’s abuse! I guess it was up to me to knock some sense into her head. “That's why you sent her to Dalton, to get her out of the hood. I don't mean to be rude, but if you don't want Celsi to meet her dad because you want her to live with you, that’s selfish of you.”

  I mean, talk about double standards.

  Aunt Kelly's lips quivered and her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper. “I lost my baby sister to drugs when she was only 19. Celsi's the only reminder of her that I have left! If her dad claims custody, I'll lose her.” Her voice shook and I gulped guiltily as she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “I don't want to lose her.”

  I felt bad as I looked at her, I really did. But I felt worse for CiCi, who had to live in fear every day. She deserved more than that, way more.

  “I understand, Mrs. Grant. But Celsi needs a father figure. You've been the best mother possible, but you can't be both.”

  We sat in silence for a long while as Aunt Kelly (hopefully) thought over my argument. I was starting to think that all hope was lost and she was just trying to come up with a polite way to ask me to leave, when to my surprise she stood up and walked to a small chest of drawers that was against the wall.

  “You're a very persuasive young man,” she remarked over her shoulder as she opened the top drawer and rummaged in it. I was trying to sneak a peek at what she was looking for when she closed the drawer and came up to me, a picture in her hand. Wordlessly, she handed it to me.

  “Oh, my God...” I murmured.

  It was a small photo booth picture of two happily grinning teens with their arms around each other. I recognized the girl immediately from the picture that CiCi had in her locket. Small and cheeky looking, with a wild afro. It was the boy that got my attention. He looked so much like CiCi it was unbelievable.

  “They have the same eyes, don't they?” Aunt Kelly said, folding her hands behind her back and pacing back and forth beside my seat.

  I looked up at her, the picture still in my hand. “Have you ever shown her this?”

  “What do you think?” Shaking her head no, Aunt Kelly sat down. “His name is on the back.” I turned the picture over. Enrique Garcia. “He's part Spanish. Sharon was really into him, said he was her very own 'Latin stud'.” She smiled wistfully.

  “I thought you told Celsi that her mom didn't know his last name.”

  Looking embarrassed, Aunt Kelly said, “I lied to protect her. The last thing I wanted was for Celsi to start her own search. But now... maybe it is time.” I nodded in agreement as she continued. “How will you track him down?”

  “To be honest, I'm not too sure. But as long as I know his name...” Images of me hiring a Private Investigator to get on the case floated around in my head as I waved the photo in the air. “Do you mind if I take this with me? I'll bring it back, I promise. It's probably our best bet in getting Celsi's dad to remember dating her mom.”

  Slowly, with great reluctance on her face, Aunt Kelly nodded. “Okay. But you'd better leave now. My son Nathan might be coming home soon, and he doesn't exactly like guests.”

  I got to my feet immediately. Not looking forward to seeing Nate come through that door. Or CiCi, for that matter.

  “Thanks for your help, Mrs. Grant,” I said fervently.

  “I just hope I won't live to regret this.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “It's Celsi's dream to meet her dad. If all goes well, you won't regret it.”

  ***

  You know how sometimes you worry at a problem for so long that it seems unsolvable, and then you take a break from thinking about it only to realize that the answer is right there? Well, I had one of those moments the night after visiting Aunt Kelly. Worn out from over thinking out ways to find CiCi's dad, I went into the kitchen in search of a snack and got to talking to Smith, our butler. He was in a talkative mood and he yammered on and on as I chewed on some pistachio nuts that were on the table.

  “And I searched for my College name and the year I graduated and there was a picture of my graduating class! It's amazing what you can find on the internet these days.”

  I grinned inwardly at the awestruck tone in his voice. Some people are easy to please.

  “Oh, yeah. The internet is a big place,” I remarked, popping a T3 into my mouth and chugging it down with a glass of soda. Nothing like a Tylenol 3 to take away the dulling pain of an aneurysm provoked headache. In my opinion, at the least.

  “Very useful. My sister's neighbor found her birth mother on the internet. She typed the ladies name on that website- Facebook, is it? And lo and behold, her mother showed up.”

  I was just trying to stifle a laugh at Smith's use of the phrase 'lo and behold' (has anyone used that saying since the 1800's?) when the rest of what he had said caught up with me.

  Facebook!

  Almost everybody had Facebook these days, myself included. I didn't use it all that much these days because I didn't have any friends, but I still had my account. Even Ahmed's mom had Facebook, and she was one of the most technology challenged people I knew.

  “I'll be right back.”

  I jumped to my feet, ignoring the flash of pain that sprouted in my temples, and sped to my room. Jumping onto my bed, I grabbed my laptop, typed in CiCi's dads name in Google and hit search. And the first result that popped up for Enrique Garcia was...you guessed it. A Facebook profile.

  My heart was thudding with anticipation as I clicked on the link and waited for it to load. It was too easy. This definitely wasn't going to be CiCi's dad- how many people had this same exact name? With my luck, it was probably going to be a bad ass teenager in a Yankee fitted.

  My heart skipped a beat as the profile loaded and my eyes honed in on the profile picture. It was him. The same hazel eyes almost identical to CiCi's, the same face as in the picture, albeit aged some years...

  “It's him,” I muttered out loud, staring at the laptop screen. “It's CiCi's dad.”

  Hurriedly, I got the picture of him and CiCi's mom from my top drawer and scanned it. Photographic evidence- check. Then I hit 'send message' and the screen popped up. But what to say to him that would convince him that I wasn't just playing a prank on him?

  Wait a second, I had a picture of CiCi too! I'd uploaded the press pictures that had been taken at the gala
onto my laptop. Dad always gets copies from the press photographers on a memory stick. I quickly found one of CiCi, looking radiant in her gorgeous dress, attached it to the message along with the other picture and wrote 'Mr. Garcia. This might come as a shock to you. Do you remember Sharon from New York? She had a daughter. Please tell me if the girl in this picture reminds you of anyone.'

  It sounded stupid and contrived, but my mind was moving at a sluggish rate, thanks to the meds, which were starting to kick in. I shrugged and hit send, wondering whether Enrique was going to dismiss the message as a joke or whether he would reply.

  Faith knocked on my door and swept in, wearing her pink party dress.

  “Luke! I'm having a tea party! In my room. Wanna come? It's gonna be fun!” she wheedled, pulling at my sleeve.

  I gave a mock growl, grabbing her up into my arms. “Okay, but you better make sure you got real people food, okay? I don't eat playdoh.”

  “Okay! Let's go!” she chirped, dragging me from my bed.

  When I came back a couple of hours later, I had all but forgotten the message I sent but I remembered as soon as I saw the notification on the screen.

  Enrique Garcia's response was simple, to the point and filled me with hope that at last, everything might work out for CiCi after all- 'Where is my daughter?'

  CHAPTER 27

  journey to the past.

  Luke's Bucket List- Make someone's wish come true

  Make someone cry with happiness