Gabriel

by S. Cook

  “Thank you.”

  She was back within a few minutes and placed a cup of coffee in front of me. I gave her a grateful nod and reached for the sugar at the other end of the table.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket and I dug it out. I sighed half-heartedly and answered it.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  “Good morning, Gabriel.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, as I ran my free hand through my hair.

  “Yes. I was just wondering when you’ll be heading home. I tried to check your return flight but the airline doesn't have you on record.”

  “That’s because I haven't booked a return flight yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Things are taking longer than I thought they would.”

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “With you, it always is, son,” my dad muttered. “Please don’t tell me it’s something illegal.”

  “No, it’s not. You don’t have to worry.”

  “Did you deliver the package yet?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  “I have time.”

  “That’s the complicated part.”

  “Is Terry’s sister giving you trouble?” he asked.

  I stifled a laugh and shook my head. She was doing quite the opposite.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Then what is the hold-up?”

  “I just have to stay for a few more days. I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

  “Your mother and I are worried about you.”

  “She shouldn’t be, neither should you. I’m fine. I just have to make sure Lynette is okay. There’s a lot going on with her and her father, and...”

  “And what?” he asked.

  “Why all the questions, Dad?”

  “Why are you so defensive?”

  “I’m not, I just feel like I’m being interrogated.”

  “Well, you were supposed to be home a few days ago. We haven’t heard from you, no calls, no messages. Just silence. It felt like you were on a tour again. We sat by the phone waiting. Your mom was getting worried.”

  “You’re being dramatic. I’m in Tampa, not the Middle East.”

  “I know, but you don’t know the things that went through our minds back then.”

  My shoulders slumped.

  “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to make you and Mom worry. Tell her I’m sorry. I’ve just been dealing with a few things that are a bit out of my control.”

  “Anything that we could help you with?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “We’re here if you need us. Please let us know when you’ll be coming home. We miss you, and Roz misses you too.”

  “I miss you too. I’ll let you know as soon as I wrap things up here.”

  “Love you, son.”

  “Love you too,” I muttered and lowered my phone just as the waitress reached my table.

  “Pretty intense conversation there,” she said.

  “You could say that,” I muttered and slid my phone into the front pocket of my jeans.

  “Don’t worry. I didn't eavesdrop.”

  “That’s comforting,” I said and looked at her.

  “You’re not in a very talkative mood today, are you?”

  “Can I ask you something?” I asked.

  She smiled and shrugged.

  “Sure. Ask away.”

  “If you were dating a guy-”

  “Is the guy you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Carry on.”

  “If you were dating me, and there was something going on in your life, something important, would you keep it from me?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “What if it were financial problems?”

  “I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, even though I like you a lot, there are some things you don’t tell the guy you’re dating. It’s kind of a pride thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. We have as much pride as guys do, and if guys knew that we were in trouble money-wise, they might try to help us out. Then we’d feel like they’re only doing stuff because they feel sorry for us.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “I never said it wasn’t,” she answered with a shrug. “The point is, we’re all trying to be strong, independent women, even if we’re down and out in one or more areas of our life.”

  “Right.”

  “Would you tell her when you’re feeling vulnerable, or scared, or sad?” she asked with a knowing look.

  “Maybe.”

  “Would you cry in front of her?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Liar. Maybe means no.”

  I glanced at her and smiled slightly.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sophie. Yours?”

  “Gabriel.”

  “That’s a great name.”

  I smiled at her and nodded.

  “Thank you, Sophie for your words of wisdom. I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help,” she said with a smile. “Oh, and if it doesn’t work out between you and Lynette, you know where to find me.”

  “Wait a minute. How did you know...”

  “Oh, come on. Everyone knows who Lynette is. She runs her father’s bar after he became such a drunk that he couldn't function any longer.”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

  “It’s the truth though.”

  “You don’t know anything about what she’s going through.”

  “I know more than you do. This is a small town. Everyone knows each other’s business whether we like it or not.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The bank is foreclosing on the bar.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No, it’s true. Apparently, they haven't been able to pay their rent for more than a year.”

  “Damn.”

  The anger rose up inside me and I stood up from my seat. I grabbed my laptop, slammed a bill on the table and stormed out. I reached my car, climbed inside and drove.

  Not anywhere in particular.

  I just had to get out of that damn diner.

  Away from Sophie, and everything she said.

  It wasn’t the waitress’s fault and I was glad she told me. Otherwise, I would’ve never known.

  I drove around town, unsure of whether I should confront Lynette about what I heard. I didn't want her to feel embarrassed to know that stories of the foreclosure, her drunken train-wreck of a father, and her relationship with me – if it could even be called that – were being circulated around town.

  I decided to let it go and wait for her to talk to me about it first. A sinking feeling inside me wondered whether she would ever tell me about her problems.

  I realized that Sophie was right.

  Lynette had been too proud to tell me about the foreclosure. If I’d known, I could have possibly done something to stop it. I didn't have all the money in the world, but I could have helped her out.

  Or at least offered to try.

  Like Terry would have wanted.

  Like I promised.

  That was why she had a meeting with the bank this morning and didn't want to tell me any of the details. She would never admit to needing help.

  “Dammit, Lynette. You’ve been strong on your own for way too long,” I muttered.

  I parked the car on a secluded hilltop, where I could calm down, and figure out the best way to help her.

  If only she’ll let me…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lynette

  I looked through the piles of bills and receipts spilled out on the desk. I flipped through them quickly looking for anything that I could have missed. Any sort of collateral that I could use to stave
off the bank for just a little bit longer.

  I knew I wouldn't find anything.

  I’d been running the place on hard work and hope for months. Any sort of property my father had owned had already been liquidated.

  It was late in the afternoon but in the windowless back office of the bar it might as well have been midnight.

  I was out of time.

  “I'm really sorry, Lynette, but really, there's nothing more we can do here,” the loan officer, Matt, had said to me during our phone meeting. “You don't have anything to back up any kind of loans or extensions at this point. Excuse me for being blunt, but your father is dead broke.”

  Matt had sighed and continued, “Look, at this point there's really nothing to do. You have a little less than ninety days. If you want my advice, sell it and be done with the whole thing.”

  I had thanked him and hung up the phone.

  Now I was sitting in front of the pile of bills. I gathered them up and stuffed them into a rusty filing cabinet. It didn't matter anymore. I’d been fighting a losing battle for a long time.

  I picked up my cell and dialed Cheryl.

  She answered on the third ring. “Where have you been?”

  “Hey,” I replied. “With Gabriel.”

  “What? Really?”

  ‘Yeah. We spent some time together, and...”

  “Oh my god! Do you like him? Is he still here?”

  “I don't know. It's weird.”

  “That a nice guy likes you? Yeah, that's super strange,” Cheryl said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

  I thought about Gabriel that morning. His heat, his kiss. I shook the memories away.

  “I'm not sure why he’s still hanging around.”

  “I'm sure he's trying to get something,” Cheryl replied with a laugh, the meaning not lost on me.

  “He's already gotten that, multiple times so I really don't think that’s what he's sticking around for.”

  “Oh!” Cheryl's shock was evident, and I regretted telling her immediately. “He's staying?”

  “I think so.”

  “Oh my, this is serious! Well as long as you're being safe. You two have been safe, haven't you?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Good because I don’t want to be planning you a baby shower any time soon.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll never have to do that.”

  I forced a subject change to something I could only talk to her about. “I called the bank today.”

  “Nice try,” she said. “Quit changing the subject. We’re not finished talking about your new boyfriend.”

  “He's not my boyfriend. He’s just a guy.”

  Cheryl snorted.

  “Some guy? You don't just let some guy sleep with you. This Gabriel is not just some guy. He might be the guy.”

  “I don't want to talk about it. Everything is weird enough right now. I've got real problems. I don’t have time to be all worked up about a boy.”

  “Ain't nothing 'boy' about him. From what I saw, he's all man. Doesn't that cane make him look distinguished? Oh my god! We should all go somewhere for dinner. I want to check him out, get to know him better.”

  “Stop it! This is serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “I'm losing the bar. For real this time.”

  The words hung in the air. It was the first time I had said them out loud. Admitted to myself or anyone what was coming down the line.

  “Well,” Cheryl finally said, breaking the silence. “Is that really a bad thing? I mean, the place is a hole.”

  I pulled myself out of the desk chair and laid down on the cot.

  “I know, but it's all I’ve got.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Yes, it is. My dad put everything he had into this place. If I lost it. . .”

  “Who gives a shit about that?”

  I was surprised at the venom in my friend's voice. Cheryl was nothing if not blunt.

  “If he cared about the bar and you, he wouldn't be literally drowning in booze. Fuck him and fuck the bar. You've given enough. You’ve spent your whole life taking care of him and that damn bar. You need to think about yourself for a change.”

  “You know I can't do that. I have employees to think about. And someone has to be here for Dad. I'm all he's got left.”

  Cheryl's tone stayed serious.

  “Lynette, I don't get on you often but listen, this is a miracle. Let the place sink. Your employees suck. They’re the worst. And your Dad is a grown ass man. You have to live your life. Stop living for everyone else and start living for you. You deserve it. More than anyone I know.”

  “Where did you get that? A movie somewhere? This is real life. I have responsibilities.”

  “And it's your life! That you can finally start living. I've watched you breaking your back for that place since you were a teenager. That’s years of your life, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing. Just walk away from it and don’t look back. Ever.”

  I started to argue, but then stopped. I closed my eyes.

  Would losing this place really be that bad?

  “Look, I've still got a little time,” I said. “I'll think about it. Okay?”

  “Fine. I’ve got to go. It's almost five. I have to pack up so I can get home. I'll call you back tonight.”

  “Oh shit! You're still at work. I'm sorry.”

  Cheryl made a dismissive sound.

  “Whatever. You know I don't give a shit about this job.”

  Laughing softly, I said my goodbyes and hung up the phone. I looked around the office, thinking about Cheryl and how carefree she was.

  God, I wish I could be like that.

  My eyes caught the package from Gabriel that I hadn’t opened yet. Sighing, I reached over, pulling it off the desk and onto the cot with me. A tug at one end of the ribbon caused the whole knot to come loose in a shower of silver and green.

  Nestled inside was a binder. Plain, black, nondescript. I pulled it away from its tissue paper confines and turned it over in my hands. No title, nothing to explain it.

  I opened it to find a notebook page filled with tight slanted handwriting. I flipped quickly through and saw all the pages were the same. Page after page of letters in the same handwriting.

  I turned back to the first page and started reading. Dear Lynette, it started. It was an apology. A very stark and formal apology. It ran through the details of my brother's death. What an upstanding man he had been. All the things Gabriel had said when he saw me on the first day. And then signed, very formally with his name and rank.

  Captain Gabriel James Thomas

  The next was much the same. And the next. But then something started to change. His handwriting was the same, but the letters were more personal. There were pictures attached to some of the letters.

  The first was of Gabriel in the hospital. He was smiling, but his green eyes were devoid of light. He was covered in stitches still and his hair was starting to grow back.

  Dear Lynette, changed into just Lynette.

  I smiled as he detailed getting the puppy.

  My parents got me a dog. I guess they thought it would get me out of bed and not paralyzed. They meant well, but I thought about telling them that if they had gotten him when I was five, maybe I would have never left for the Army. It's not true but it's hilarious when Mom starts feeling guilty. She does this full on fainting routine. Clutching at imaginary pearls and all. But still, the dog is nice. He's quiet. And it's someone else’s job to clean up after him. I think I'll name him Roscoe. He's such a great guy.

  Attached to the letter was a picture of him with the dog. The scars on his face were still noticeable, but the stitches were all gone.

  The dog was small at the time. A lab puppy, black with big, brown eyes. He detailed his physical therapy. Apologizing for how short the letters were and explaining that he was exhausted.

  I wonder if it was like this when I learned to walk the fir
st time? Probably not. It was all new then. Now I have to relearn everything. This all feels like a lost cause. It hurts and my body doesn't listen to me willingly anymore. It's like I'm fighting myself at every turn but everyone keeps saying I'm doing better and talking about hope. But I don't feel any different. It feels the same as it felt right after the accident. When I wasn't dead.

  I squinted at the page. These were Gabriel's words. All of them. They were his thoughts and he had been writing to me at least once a week for almost three years. And I understood how he felt because I felt like that now. All the time. The pictures were few and far between, but they showed him getting better.

  From bed, to wheelchair, to walker, to cane.

  His hair grew out, along with a beard. The dog got bigger too, from a tiny puppy into a massive lab with heavy paws and please forgive me eyes.

  He talked about his work. Managing the family business. His parents passing off more and more duties in an effort to keep him occupied until finally he was in control of the whole business. He wrote about it, covering the basics in bits and snatches of information. Manufacturing soap of all things.

  I pulled out the last picture he had sent. In all the photos he was smiling. Only with his mouth and never with his eyes. He never looked at the person holding the camera the way he looked at me.

  I pulled my knees to my chin and stared at the picture in my hand. The man in the photo was not the man who had held me that morning. He was not the man who had stood next to me urging me to smile so he could capture my picture. The man in the photo was haunted. His green eyes were cloudy and dull.

  I tapped the photo against my lips and laid down on the cot, closing the binder. I wondered where he was, what he was doing. Looking at my phone, I saw it was almost nine and I had missed five calls. They were all from him. He hadn't left any voice-mails for me. I stared at the phone, unsure what to do next. It vibrated in my hand.

  “Gabriel,” I said slowly, letting his name roll off my tongue.

  “You finally answered.”

  “Yes, sorry. I was a bit wrapped up.”

  “How did your meeting go?”

  “Uhm...” I didn't want to talk about it, so I said, “I opened the package.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, and I read your letters.”

  “Okay. Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice losing its earlier bravado.