Chapter Twenty
Illias
“But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?”
Illias parked in front of the same cafe he met his mom the last time they went for brunch, however, this time he wasn’t just meeting her, but Henry too.
Per Illias’ request. Illias wanted to attempt to have, at the very least, a civil conversation with Henry to see if it was even possible.
Illias drummed his fingers against the steering wheel while looking through the large front windows of the cafe.
Inside, he could see his mom and Henry sitting at one of the tables with pastries and coffee cups in front of them while they talked.
There wasn’t a phone in sight, which was a massive change for Henry.
When Illias was younger, Henry’s phone was always on the table.
He claimed it was because at any point work could call and he would have to take the call.
Over half of their dinners were ruined because Henry had to leave in the middle of them, and when they went out he would often leave before their food even arrived at the table.
Henry seemed to actually be engaged in the conversation with Illias’ mom though.
Letting her speak uninterrupted. Nodding along to whatever she was saying.
He even reached across the table and placed his hand on hers.
For the first time in a while, they looked happy.
Like they did in the photos before Illias was old enough to remember anything but the chronic late-night fights and tense atmosphere.
Taking a small breath, Illias got out of the car.
Everything will be fine, he assured himself.
Don’t think about it too hard and it will be fine.
Think about…think about Cantrell. I should ask Cantrell out for coffee.
His stomach lurched to his throat. Not the time, brain.
Not the time, he scolded. Cantrell might not even like coffee.
The small bell above the cafe door jingled. He might not even like—
His parents looked over at him. Henry’s expression wavered for a fraction of a second. Illias grew a knot at the base of his throat.
You.
He put on his best happy face and walked over. His mom stood up to greet him with a hug. Henry stayed seated, offering a short nod and stiff smile instead. Illias sat without going to the counter to order. Stomach empty but appetite gone.
“Do you want anything from the counter, hon? I can go—”
“I’m good, thanks, Mom. I’m usually not hungry after waking up,” he lied, the knot in his throat making his words come out strained. He twisted his mood ring. “I’m, uh, glad you could make it Henry.”
“Of course. I can see why you both liked this place so much. The pastries are delicious. If I remember correctly, you like to bake, right?” Henry glanced quickly at Illias’ mom as if to check that he was saying the right thing. “Have you tried recreating any?”
“And I remember how much you used to make fun of me for it,” Illias mumbled beneath his breath, dropping his eyes to his hands.
His mom sighed. “Illias—”
“No, it’s okay,” Henry interrupted, patting her hand. “He’s right. I did. And I’m sorry, I should have never done that to you.”
Bitter, acidic anger burned Illias’ throat. He twisted his mood ring, focusing on the sensation of the metal rubbing against his skin. “You say that like it fixes everything.”
Fuck.
“Can we not do this right now?” Exhaustion intertwined his mom’s words.
“And just pretend that he’s magically changed?” Illias snapped. Regret flooded through him the minute his mom flinched. The knot in his throat grew larger. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—fuck, Mom, I’m sorry,” he rambled, grabbing her free hand. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” she said, her smile weak. “That’s something you two share.” She glanced between him and Henry. “That nasty temper.”
Dread shot down Illias’ spine, sharp and cold.
He looked at Henry, and for a fleeting second, Illias saw an older version of himself.
Clinging to the remnants of a broken marriage.
Holding onto the jagged pieces of every relationship he shattered.
If he didn't control his temper, would he end up like Henry?
Destined to a relentless cycle of apologizing?
Illias pressed his lips together then looked at Henry. “What I meant to say was thank you. For apologizing.”
Henry nodded. “I understand. It’ll take us both time to move forward.”
“But at least this is a start.” Illias’ mom squeezed his hand. “Right, hon?”
“Yeah.” Illias gave a tight smile, determined to be civil, like he planned when he arrived. “It’s a start.”
Saint Anthony’s offered a much-needed distraction after brunch.
The volunteer in charge when Illias arrived sent him to the fenced area behind the shelter to do yard work.
Pull weeds, push mow, fix anything broken.
Whatever needed to be done. No one else had the time nor the energy.
Illias had both and pulling weeds sounded like the perfect way to direct his anger.
While he worked, a few of the teenagers came outside. Illias always considered himself bad with people when not at work, but after a few hours under the hot sun and sharing an overall annoyance with the lack of maintenance, he found that he wasn’t too bad at people-ing.
The younger teenagers—who came out with a pissed-at-the-world attitude—relaxed after they saw he wasn’t like the other volunteers.
He wouldn’t scold them for swearing or for goofing off instead of working.
The older ones complained about anything and everything while he piped in from time to time with advice or sharing similar stories to their struggles.
“Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it once,” Lincoln, one of the older teens, said, rolling his eyes. “Everyone at school does it.”
“Look dude.” Illias yanked a weed out of the ground. “All I’m saying is that selling Xanax at school will get you kicked out. Do you want to be a drug dealer for the rest of your life?”
“No,” he grumbled, snatching the weed from Illias’ hand. “I want to design cars.”
“Okay, well to do that you need a college degree which requires you to have a high school diploma or a GED at the very least.” Illias stood, placing his hands on his hips.
“So, you can either finish your senior year, or you can make quick cash and get kicked out and possibly go to juvie. Which will delay you getting your GED, which will delay you going to college. But hey dude, your choice.”
Lincoln huffed. “But what if—”
“Dude.” Carter, a sixteen-year-old, slapped Lincoln’s shoulder. “Shut up. Illias has a point. Do you really want to go to juvie again?”
“I guess not.”
“Good, glad that’s settled. Are we done for the day?” Illias glanced around the group, waiting for a consensus and praying it was yes. Everyone looked at each other, voices overlapping as they all agreed that they were fine calling it quits.
One of the younger teens brought out water bottles for everyone and they all found a place to perch or lean on.
Illias glanced around the small group—no more than ten of them in total—and saw a piece of himself in every one of them.
All of them were at different stages of life, just trying to make it day by day.
He thought about seeing one of the volunteers to ask if they had groups for people in this awkward stage of life.
Not a child but not an adult. Not sure who they are or how they fit in the grand scheme of things.
“Wow,” Cantrell’s voice snagged Illias’ attention.
Illias turned his head towards the right to see Cantrell at the shelter door.
“I haven’t seen the yard look this good in months.” His eyes fell on Illias. “Did you do this?”
Illias’ already burnt cheeks grew hotter. “With some help. I wouldn’t have been able to get nearly as much done if it wasn’t for them.”
Cantrell’s smile met his glowing eyes and Illias decided he wanted to see that expression on Cantrell’s face more. Illias was used to seeing him tired or stressed, but happy? That was rare. To be the one that made Cantrell happy twisted Illias’ guts in a way he couldn’t explain.
“It’s a good thing I made a trip to the grocery store before I came. There’s ice cream and popsicles in the kitchen if any of you would like to—”
All of the teenagers scrambled to their feet, laughing and pushing each other to get to the door first. Soon it was only Cantrell and Illias left in the yard.
“Good trick.” Illias pushed off the decrepit slide he was leaning on. “But if you wanted to talk privately, you could’ve just said so.”
Cantrell raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I thought you would be joining them since you’re rather close in age.”
Illias’ jaw dropped but a soft, airy laugh escaped him. “Alright, Father’s got jokes.” He tucked his hands in his pockets, cocking his hip to the side. “Was there something you wanted to talk about though?”
“I wanted to thank you for doing this.” Cantrell nodded towards the pile of weeds in the back corner of the yard.
“And for making those kids smile again. I haven’t seen them that happy in…
a while.” He took his glasses off while pulling a small cloth out of his pocket.
“I think the volunteers often forget how to connect with them because they don’t come from the same background.
And I rarely have the time to sit down with them, so,” he slid his glasses back on, “Thank you. If you ever have the free time, will you come back and do whatever it is you did with them again?”
“Yeah, absolutely. The time may vary but I’ll be here.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it regardless. They can be a handful at times though.”
“I can handle it. If needed, I’ll call in backup.” Illias took his hands out of his pockets then picked up his water from the grass. “Well,” he sighed. “I am in desperate need of a shower, so I will see you around, Father.”
Illias walked towards the door. Cantrell grabbed Illias’ wrist as he passed, stopping him mid-step. “Are you coming Tuesday?” Cantrell asked.
“Sorry, can’t. I’m covering for Jasmine. But you know how to reach me if you’re that desperate to see me.”
Cantrell’s cheeks turned pink and he averted his eyes. “I will see you on Sunday then.”
Illias hid his disappointment with a gentle smile. “Of course.”