2. Odell
TWO
ODELL
There was nowhere to hide in our tiny apartment.
We had a small living area with an attached kitchen that fit one person, with a bathroom that reminded me of the ones on a plane it was so compact, plus two bedrooms. Or one room with a bed in it, and the other had a folding contraption that I slept on, but the space was also for hanging wet laundry as we didn’t have a dryer, and a desk, storage, and Uncle’s closet.
It was a lot to ask from one small room, and I suffered from claustrophobia. I’d go about my life and never have a panic attack, but if I couldn’t see outside or I was anxious about something else, the walls would close in on me.
This room had a window, but it was covered by a bookshelf, and so night after night, I’d distract myself with music or podcasts or I’d sleep outside on the couch.
I went to sleep surrounded by the stink of wet clothes, and closets that wouldn’t close because they were overflowing with stuff. Sometimes, I’d be at the desk rather than trying to sleep, planning my lessons for the next day.
We had four salaries coming in, two from my aunt and my two. I taught school and at night waited tables and suffered through meager tips, rude customers, and aching legs. My Aunt Louisa was a receptionist at a realty firm by day and cleaned offices in the evening.
Uncle Stan was disabled—one hand was missing two fingers, and he walked with a limp—having been hurt in a workplace accident, but his compensation didn’t cover our food bills. His employer had finagled the lowest payout, blaming Uncle for ignoring the proper protocols at the factory. That led to us selling our home and moving into a shoebox-sized apartment.
The worry of wondering if we could pay Uncle’s next medical expense or the power bill during winter was constant and oppressive. Some nights I lay in bed struggling to breathe as stress crushed the air out of my lungs.
On the rare occasions when Aunt Louisa and I were at home and awake at the same time, we’d huddle in my room and study our monthly budget. We rarely had cash remaining at the end of the month and often there was a shortfall.
But we had a pact never to worry Uncle Stan, and we didn’t discuss money in front of him.
Perhaps that was a mistake. He was an adult and part of our family, but the doctors said his heart couldn’t cope with a lot of stress, and our method of dealing with his health was to pretend we were better off financially than we were.
But this evening when I returned from scraping leftovers off plates and mopping the restaurant floor, Uncle Stan and Aunt Louisa were waiting for me.
My aunt’s puffy eyes betrayed her sadness, and Uncle was standing behind her, his face set in a grim expression as he leaned on his cane. The air shimmered with tension.
I took my time dumping my backpack at the door and toeing off my shoes while my mind whirred. Trying to catch my aunt’s eye was a no go as she bent her head and fiddled with the edge of the lace tablecloth.
“What’s going on?” I made to hug Aunt Louisa, but she didn’t return my embrace, her body stiff and unyielding.
“You and my wife have been conspiring against me.” The man I’d grown up with, my mild-mannered uncle, had never spoken to me that way. There was venom underlying his steely tone.
Instinct told me to edge toward the front door and get the heck away, but I had to protect my aunt from whatever was going on. Instead of fleeing, I pretended there was nothing out of the ordinary and plonked myself in a chair opposite her.
“Everything all right?” That was a ridiculous thing to say because obviously the situation was far from okay. But I was biding my time, hoping I’d get a hint of what caused my aunt’s distress and Uncle’s fury.
“No!” Both Aunt Louisa and I reared away from the sting of my uncle’s wrath. “You’ve been lying to me.”
“No, Stan.” My aunt had found her voice. “We protected you.” She took my hand. “Odell and I have worked so hard, six days a week, so you wouldn’t stress about money and medical bills mounting up. We did our part.” Her voice rose to screech level ten. “Now tell Odell how you threw our hard work, love, and devotion in our face.”
My aunt had always been the strength in their marriage, and she was demonstrating the toughness that had kept their relationship alive after her husband’s accident.
The bitterness my uncle exhibited when I arrived evaporated, as though it’d been pricked, like a balloon.
“I’m not angry at Odell, just?—”
“Stan, just say it,” my aunt pleaded.
He hung his head. “It wasn’t supposed to… it was just one bet.”
My body jerked backward. The words “just” and “one bet” spelled doom. There was never just one, and there were people in our neighborhood whose lives had been ruined by gambling. Like alcohol and drugs, it was a life-altering addiction.
Neither of them had to say anything else. Uncle was in debt and probably to pretty scary people because he didn’t have a credit card and nothing of value to sell. He couldn’t barter his services to reduce what he owed, and money that went into our shared bank account never stayed long. Besides, whatever was in there didn’t amount to much.
“Who are you on the hook to and what’s the dollar amount?”
“It was a sure thing, and he lent me money.”
I put my hands over my ears. The clichés spilled from his lips as he tried to minimize what he owed and to whom.
“Just tell me.” My screech reverberated around the room. We never raised our voices with one another. All three of us were acting out of characte r tonight, but stress did that.
“It’s big.” My aunt’s shoulders slumped as she gazed at me with tears sprinkled on her lashes. She coughed, a condition brought on by the paint and who knew what else in the apartment.
“But I have a solution that will set us free.” Uncle’s face lit up.
“Another sure thing?” I snapped.
“This is guaranteed.” He lowered himself at my feet, his knees creaking as he moved. “The guy made me an offer.”
A loan shark wanting to help my impoverished and disabled uncle who was in debt up to his neck? Right. One in a bazillion. Not!
“What? Does he want you to become a drug mule?”
Uncle reacted as if I’d slapped him. I experienced a twinge of guilt for shouting, but I couldn’t let him go through with whatever madcap scheme he was considering. We could go to the police, but if he had already done something illegal—been involved in a gambling den?—he might be arrested.
Or we could flee the city. The money we had would get the three of us on an overnight bus somewhere, but we’d have no income, no cash, and no food. That wasn’t happening.
“It’s simple, legal, and afterward we’ll have enough money to buy a small place. Your aunt can retire.”
I buried my face in my hands. Another sure thing!
“Just tell him what you’ve arranged.” My aunt’s hard voice sent goosebumps crawling over my skin.
“Marriage.” Uncle said it so proudly, as though he’d achieved something through hard work.But the pride didn’t extend to his eyes.
“That’s bigamy.” I adored my aunt and uncle, though in the last thirty minutes, he’d gone down in my estimation, But neither of them were a “catch.” Middle-aged and with no money, no prospects, and one of them disabled. I’d give my life for them, but the rest of the world didn’t see them that way.
“You!” Aunt Louisa’s disembodied tone was more worrisome than the one word she’d spoken.
“Me what?”
“He’s arranged for you to marry the guy who lent him the money.”
I leaped up, forgetting I was gripping the tablecloth, and a vase, plate, and keys clattered to the floor, the porcelain shattering into tens of pieces.
“No way am I getting married to anyone, especially some creep I’ve never met.”
My uncle grabbed my arm, but I tossed him off and stormed into the kitchen.
“You don’t understand.” He was at my heels, badgering me about how our financial woes would be at an end if I agreed to the union.
“You can file for divorce after…” His brow furrowed as his voice trailed away.
“That makes no sense. A guy wants to marry me to absolve you of a debt, and after we say ‘I do,’ he’ll shrug and say. ‘Your debt’s paid and you’re free to divorce me?’”
Uncle’s face fell. “Maybe after a few months. He said once you were married, you could come back to us.”
The guy had suckered Uncle into debt and didn’t have a significant other, and yet somehow me marrying him would pay off Uncle’s debt.
“Make it make sense!” I tugged at my hair and yanked out a few strands before pushing past Uncle and heading to my room. But I changed my mind as I needed air. Instead, I grabbed my running shoes.
“Don’t go, love.” Aunt Louisa took my hands.
“I need to jog, even for an hour, and forget tonight happened.”
“He didn’t tell you everything.”
That stopped me in my tracks. “I’m not meeting the guy for coffee or dinner. We’re not hanging out.” I unlocked the door and strode into the hallway.
I pushed the elevator button once, twice, and a third time, my fear and disappointment channeling through my stabby fingers. Perhaps I should use the stairs. I knew every creak and groan in the elevator, and I always counted the floors when we chugged down so I didn’t panic in the small space. Besides, I knew how to wrench both doors apart. I’d done it more than once.
“The wedding.”
“No wedding. We’ll go to the police. Uncle can wear a wire, get the guy to incriminate himself.”
“It’s tomorrow.”
The elevator doors opened, and I saw my future in the scuffed floor and the scratched doors, marked with grubby fingerprints. If I stepped into them, I’d never return. People lived on the street, begged for food, or stayed a night or two in a shelter. That was an option. My only one.
“If you want to leave, I’ll give you whatever money we have. But…”
Aunt Louisa and I were thinking alike. And I was tempted. Two steps and I’d be in the elevator.
But I couldn’t do it, not only because of the anguished look on her face. If I ran away, what would happen to her? Instead, I strode into the apartment.
My aunt shooed Uncle to bed, and she and I sat together, arms around one another, and didn’t sleep. She said she’d call the school and say I was sick. Next week was vacation, so it gave me time to figure out where my life was headed, which at the moment was a deep dark hole.
There was a knock at the door. Him! He knew where we lived. If I’d run, they both would have suffered.
I had to shower the grime off from the day before. Weirdly, I didn’t want to greet my prospective husband, stinking of last night’s chicken and floor cleaner.
The luke-warm shower washed away my tears but more of the salty droplets filled my eyes as I dressed and marched into the main room.
Nothing prepared me for the guy towering over my aunt and uncle. Uncle was trying to speak, but my aunt shushed him.
The newcomer’s jet-black hair paired with the probing blue eyes sent shivers up and down my spine. But worse was him ogling me as if I was a possession. There was something behind his gaze, something ancient and dark, and I grabbed Aunt Louisa, my palm damp with sweat, and she stuffed a tissue in my hand.
“Draven!” His name described him perfectly.