STRAYS, page 8
He jumps off the chair and collects his book, holding it to his chest. “I’m going to my room.”
“Hold on, I’ll pick out some clothes for you.”
“I know what I want to wear.”
“Did you brush your teeth yet?”
“Nope.” He disappears and slams the door to his bedroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen and wondering how to help a grieving child feel better.
I was older than Oliver when I lost my dad. He was drunk and he was driving. The police were chasing him and he slammed into a tree. My little brother cried a lot in the days that followed but I don’t remember crying. I remember being in the backyard and feeling like my chest was going to bust open if I didn’t do something. So I did something. I punched the side of a half rotten woodshed over and over until my knuckles were bleeding and stuck with a bunch of painful wood splinters. My mother was irate and dragged me off to the doctor for a tetanus shot. On the car ride she looked at me in the rearview mirror and it was the first time I realized she didn’t like me much.
“You’ll live up the Hempstead name all right. You’re just like them, Rafe.”
When Kevin Walsh took it upon himself to rearrange all of Oliver’s paperwork and insert me into his birth certificate, he also switched Oliver’s last name from Walsh to Hempstead. I signed him up for school as Oliver Hempstead and I’m not sure Oliver understood that when I told him about it.
Fuck. It’s not fair that a little boy has to deal with so many of these adult issues.
When Oliver emerges from his room he’s wearing red shorts and an orange shirt. Far be it from me to argue with his fashion choices.
There’s a knock at the door connecting our apartment with Shane and Lana’s place. I have found my shirt and take the time to yank it over my head before opening the door to find Lana on the other side. She’s warmed to me quite a bit since the day we met but I wouldn’t call us friends.
However, she has no such reservations about Oliver.
“Lana!” he yells and jumps into her arms when she opens them.
Meanwhile, I had told him he could call me Rafe if he didn’t want to call me Dad but he still just refers to me as some variation of ‘Hey, you’.
Izzy appears with perfect hair and makeup, her light pink sundress making her look like an advertisement for summer picnics. A lot of female squealing ensues as she and Lana fuss over Oliver and I wonder how long my head can take the noise before a migraine blooms.
“Say goodbye to your dad,” Izzy tells Oliver when she takes his hand on her way out the door.
He turns just long enough to glance at me. “Bye.”
“Bye, Oliver. See you later.”
He nods and tries to drag Izzy outside.
She tosses a stunning length of long red hair aside and faces me. “I’ll have him back by three.”
“Great.”
Her eyes sweep over the living room. “And you’ll be hard at work unpacking, right?”
Instead of answering I just cross my arms and stare at her. Lord, she’s fucking pretty. Bossy and prissy as hell, but the things I want to do to that little pink sundress should be illegal.
She thinks I’m just being a dick by standing there in silence so she rolls her eyes and follows Oliver and Lana out the door.
The apartment rings with the silence of their absence. This is the first time since the moment I walked into Kevin Walsh’s office that I am actually alone. I celebrate this by searching up some amateur porn on my phone and then heading for the shower to jerk off. And as much as I try to keep my mind focused on the hot scenes I just watched I can’t stop thinking about flipping Izzy Gentry’s pink dress over her head and bending her into some crazy positions. In my head I come in her mouth and then for real I come on my hand. Fantasy Izzy swallows like a good girl and I lean my head against the shower tiles with a thick groan.
I’m in a better mood after that release and I’m pretty sure I can keep my thoughts clean for the rest of the day. After throwing a load of laundry in the wash I begin pawing through the carelessly packed boxes and random garbage bags. It’s not like I had loads of time to pack my life up and I ended up leaving a lot of things behind in Houston but I guess if I haven’t missed them yet then I’m not going to. The clothes that can be hung up are placed in the closet in Oliver’s room because there’s no other empty closet I can take. One of these days I’ll buy a separate dresser but for now I take the top two drawers of the one in his room.
When Kevin Walsh gave my son to me I was also handed two suitcases and a small sealed box, like ‘Here are your Oliver accessories’. He said Dana’s personal effects would be placed in a storage unit that would be paid for until Oliver was old enough to decide what he wanted to do with everything.
As I stand in my son’s room it makes me sad to look at those two lonely little suitcases lying in front of the bed. They are mostly full of clothes and a few stuffed animals and books. I unload the clothes into the bottom dresser drawer, set the stuffed animals on the bed and the books on top of the dresser to cheer the place up a little.
Suddenly I’m mad. He should have more than this. Dana was the type who would have given her kid anything he wanted. Walsh likely just couldn’t be bothered packing it all up.
I stow the suitcases beneath the bed and reach for the lone box that is still sealed with packing tape. When I open it the first thing I see is a yellow baby book with a picture of a teddy bear. Underneath that there’s a framed photo of Oliver and his mother. The picture must have been taken on his first birthday because he’s about to smash a fist through a cake with a big number one stuck in the middle. For days I’ve been struggling to recall the details of Dana’s face and I stare at the photo. She’s laughing and she’s holding her baby, our baby. She looks happy.
With care I set the photo on top of the dresser beside a stuffed giraffe. I leave everything else in the box and store it on a shelf in the closet. Someday Oliver will want to go through the contents. Maybe he’ll even want to show them to me.
Now that all the unpacking is done the living room looks less like an episode of one of those hoarding shows. And then, because I shouldn’t be such a slob now that I’m a dad, I clean the surface of every piece of furniture in sight before moving on to scrub the kitchen and clean the bathroom. When I discover a mop that’s been propped up inside the tiny coat closet I take that as a sign to mop the entire floor.
All in all, the place looks very satisfactory by the time Izzy and Oliver return. Izzy’s loaded down with a bunch of shopping bags and I wonder how much stuff is required to begin kindergarten. Oliver whizzes right past me while shouting that he’s going to change into his bathing suit.
Izzy sets the bags on the kitchen table.
“How was shopping?” I look down into one of the bags and see a green backpack covered with cat cartoons.
“Oh, we had a great time. Your son is a natural shopper. He didn’t complain once. He is the happy new owner of a backpack, a lunch bag with a matching water bottle, markers, pencils, glue sticks, new sneakers, and because he’s such a gifted little reader I encouraged him to pick out some new books. We had lunch in the food court and Oliver ate a turkey sandwich. When he asked for potato chips I talked him into an apple. He likes apples. Did you know that? Anyway, Lana and I told him we’d take him swimming in the pool. Is that all right?”
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to respond at this point or if she just needs to breathe before she keeps talking. I take a chance and say, “Fine by me.”
She walks around, inspecting all the newly cleaned corners of the apartment. “This is much better. You did a great job in here, Rafe.”
“Yeah, maybe I can get a position as a maid if my other job doesn’t work out.”
It’s a joke. At least, I mean it as a joke. But Izzy gives me a funny look so apparently I need to work on my delivery.
She’s already en route to her bedroom. “Would you like to come swimming too?”
“Think I’ll sit this one out.” I can’t remember the last time I dipped a toe into a pool.
When everyone is suited up and in the backyard I decide to go out and observe my son having fun. Oliver withstands getting slathered with sunscreen and is so excited about his swim date he even throws a smile my way. This makes me double down on my appreciation for Izzy. I’ll try to keep the apartment neater from now on.
I’ll also try to stop making her suck my dick inside my head.
Izzy and Lana toss around a giant yellow beach ball with Oliver while I stay on the shaded patio. I have to grin at the sight of him having the time of his life, paddling around the pool with the swim vest that keeps him afloat. Another gift from Izzy.
Shane sits in the shade with me for a little while, just shooting the shit. He’s a genuine guy and could probably befriend a rattlesnake with no trouble. After a while he decides it’s too hot to stay out of the water so he jumps in and lifts his girlfriend in the air, much to Lana’s squealing delight.
Jay and Caris stop by because they want to wish Oliver good luck for his first day of kindergarten. Jay delivers a nod of greeting and then wanders off to talk to Shane while Caris sits beside me in a patio chair.
“Here.” She sets a grocery bag on the table. “I brought you some boxes of cheese sticks, fruit snacks and granola bars in case you’re short on things to pack for Oliver’s lunch this week.”
That’s right. He’ll be eating lunch at school. Izzy mentioned buying him a lunch bag. Somehow it hadn’t sunk in that I’d need to pack it with food every day. Maybe I should carry a notebook around so I can keep lists of all the small but important chores that come with caring for a child. So far I’m not very good at figuring these things out on my own.
“Thank you,” I say to Caris. She’s using her shirt to clean her glasses and she gives me a smile before turning her attention to the fun and games going on in the pool.
“Yay Oliver!” Izzy claps when he catches the beach ball. He throws it up in the air and Jay’s so busy talking to Shane that he doesn’t notice anything until the ball hits him in the head. He laughs and tosses the ball back into the pool.
“Jay’s crazy about his nephew,” Caris says, grinning as she watches my brother.
“I’m glad.” I’m also watching my brother. He and I have yet to have a lengthy conversation alone and I feel like we should.
This is not the time, though.
“Did you guys set a date?” I ask Caris.
She holds out her left hand, admiring her engagement ring. “We’re thinking about May. We’re planning on having the wedding at the butterfly conservatory here in Hutton. It’s a special place for us and it’ll be beautiful in the spring.”
When I look at her I can still see the skinny girl who ran all over Arcana with her friend Jonathan Hempstead. I broke into her house once. Well, her aunt’s house. That’s where she lived the summer she stayed in Arcana. It was just a thing that I did, just for the pure hell of it, just because I was bored and enjoyed being a creepy asshole. It’s a big reason why the cops picked me up when Varina Chapel was attacked. I’m sure that Caris remembers all of this.
“How is your family?” I ask her. This not a topic I’ve touched on yet. Her mother was orphaned when Billy Hempstead went on his murder spree.
She doesn’t mind answering the question. “My parents are great. They are currently on a Caribbean cruise.” Her face then falls and she stares at her hands. “Aunt Vay died six months ago.”
Aunt Vay. That’s Varina Chapel. “I’m sorry to hear that.” And I am sorry. That woman never did wrong by me. She wasn’t even conscious when the cops decided I must have been the one who assaulted her. I was cuffed and thrown in a cell so fast my head spun.
Caris is still troubled. She’s twisting her ring around on her finger and biting her lip. “Rafe, I should tell you something. I’m the one who told the police you’d broken into our house and that you’d been sleeping in our shed.”
I’d only been sleeping in their shed because my mother had kicked me out and I hadn’t figured out a plan yet.
Caris is nearly tearful as she looks at me. “It’s my fault you were arrested.”
“Nah.” I feel the urge to pat her shoulder but that would probably be too much. “It’s not your fault. Everyone was looking for reason to collar me for something, being the grandson of Billy Hempstead. My dad was no prize either. But your folks had the worst of it after what my grandfather did.”
She looks at Jay. And then she looks at me. “Didn’t Jay tell you?”
“About what?”
“I don’t think your grandfather murdered my grandparents, Rafe. There was another man, a drifter and known killer, who confessed to killing Richard and Nancy a few years ago. He’s dead now but he knew details. And he was in Arcana at the time. “
Hearing this is so startling that I don’t even have anything to say. All my life I’ve known that I was the grandson of a hated killer. No one can understand what that’s like, to have everyone look at you as if evil runs in your veins. It was what messed up my father. It messed me up too. Finding out that maybe it was never true tilts the world on its axis.
My head spins. How much of a difference would this have made in our lives? There’s no telling. We might have grown up like regular kids, if not for a lie that spanned generations.
My brother could have found the time to tell me all this himself by now. I can’t explain why he didn’t.
“Rafe?” Caris looks worried.
“You shouldn’t let him know that you told me,” I say to her.
She’s puzzled. “Why?”
“Just don’t.”
She doesn’t agree but she doesn’t argue either.
The latest developments are still running through my mind when Jay calls to Caris that they should get going. He’s got to go pick up some materials for tomorrow’s jobsite.
“You have a fabulous first day, sweetheart,” Caris says, blowing Oliver a kiss. Jay bends down close to the side of the pool and offers a high five, which Oliver gladly responds to. Jay grins and roughs up the kid’s hair before taking Caris’s hand and walking toward the back gate.
“You got everything you need?” he asks me on his way out.
“Yup,” is my one word answer.
He pauses to look at me, probably hearing the clip in my tone. But an instant later he keeps walking.
Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes. I’m not a big lover of alcohol, not anymore, but I sure wouldn’t turn down a bottle right now.
The echoes in my head are ten years old; the din of Friday night football in small town Texas, the chants of the roaring crowd.
KILL-ER! KILL-ER! KILL-ER!
My eyes are still closed when I sense a shadow has fallen nearby and I open them to find a dripping wet beautiful girl in a bikini. She’s displeased with me. I know the signs by now. Her hands are on her hips and her pouty lips are pressed together.
“How can I help you, Izzy?”
She’s in the mood to pass out lectures. “I was just thinking that since you’re not doing anything maybe you should go in the pool with your son.”
Oliver stands on the side of the pool, takes a running jump and leaps in, causing a small tidal wave. Lana is right there to make sure he stays afloat. She and Shane cheer.
“Did Oliver say he wants me in there?”
“No,” she admits. “But it’s probably a better use of your time than sitting over here by yourself and glaring at the patio cushions.”
“You know what, Isabella Gentry?” I stand up and stretch. “Every once in a while you should just really mind your own fucking business.”
Too late I realize Oliver has climbed out of the pool again. He’s also taken a few steps in our direction, probably because he wants Izzy to watch him jump. In any case, he’s well within earshot of what I just said.
Izzy’s really pissed now. She snatches her towel and stalks into the house. That’s bad enough but when I catch the expression on Oliver’s face I feel even worse.
As far as he’s concerned, I’m the shittiest person in the world.
9
Izzy
My father was born in a small prison town in the desert. His mother was an immigrant from Mexico and his father was a Gentry; a scandalous local family whose ranks were filled ruffians and criminals. They both died long before I was born but he always spoke of his parents with affection.
My mother’s story is different. Her father was a powerful bishop in an insular religious community on the northern Arizona border. Her mother was one of his many wives. I never met them either but that’s mostly because my mom never wanted to see them again after they forced her to marry an old man when she was just sixteen years old. After stories about the cult became public, thanks to my brave Aunt Promise, my mother was rescued and for the first time in her life she was allowed to live normally.
Anyone who meets the two of them would quickly notice that they are very different. Deck Gentry is big and fierce and can easily intimidate anyone if he wants to. Jenny Gentry is gentle and sweet and will give anyone a hug if they look as if they need one.
I’m lucky to be their daughter and I love them both very much.
It’s always been just the three of us, although my extended family is huge. When I was around five or six I became obsessed with having a brother or sister. All of my many cousins had siblings. I was the lone only child. I would write down this wish on Christmas lists. I would beg for the gift of a sibling for my birthday. Then I would cry when I never received one.
My dad always laughed at me and said he’d already scored the best kid in the world on his first try. He didn’t feel like he could do any better.
Just last year I learned the truth. My mother had suffered three miscarriages. One before I was born and two after. And this time I cried to know that while I pleaded for a sibling she was in agony over the children she’d lost.
While I watch the early morning shadows shift on the ceiling above my bed I think about last night’s conversation with my parents. After a long first week of classes and coming home every day to the company of sullen Rafe Hempstead I was feeling a little homesick.
