Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Izzy
“Do I need to feed you?” I ask Lance as he drives us home.
He laughs. “I think it’s a human rights violation if you don’t. But I can feed myself.”
I’m trying to wrap my head around all of this. “Do you eat when we eat?”
“Sometimes. It depends on the situation.”
Drew pipes in from the back seat. “First day of school rule!”
Fast food. Burgers, fries, and milkshakes, assuming the machine is working. “Do you like burgers? Or are you one of those guys who only cares about his health and eats air?”
His lips curl. “I don’t eat crappy burgers. But if you want, since it’s the first day of your new life, I’ll take you to a good place. It opened up about a year ago.”
A few minutes later, the car smells like well-seasoned-and-seared dead cow, and I’m munching on some crinkle-cut fries. I get some people like curly fries, but crinkle-cut fries are the best. There’s a built-in spot for your teeth to bite in, the crinkles hold extra salt, and they have the best crunch. It’s impossible to screw up.
When we get back to the apartment, Lance opens the door and cases the joint—nope, wrong phrase, checks it out before he allows us in. While I appreciate his attention to detail, I kinda hate waiting. It forces me to observe my surroundings. Every other door on this floor has a cute wreath or a welcome mat. We live at the end of the hallway behind a naked, unwelcoming door. But whatever, all of this is temporary. Drew and I will go home. Or find a new one. Maybe some place out west. Maybe we’ll live on a farm, and I’ll learn how to ride a horse.
As a kid, I wanted to be a horse girl. You know the type—obsessed with horses, braiding the manes, knowing everything about saddles. But I lived in the city, and the only horses around belonged to the cops, so it was a hard pass from Dad.
Speaking/thinking of which, my phone buzzes with a text from him.
Dad: 4 Families Friday dinner. You’re coming. No excuses.
My shoulders deflate as I exhale. The only Four Families functions I’ve been to in the last decade are Four Families funerals.
Lance gives us the all-clear and is already putting burgers on the plates for us by the time I pull myself from the memory. Drew and I sit on the stools at the breakfast bar while Lance stands on the other side, an unobstructed view of the door.
Drew shovels the food down his throat, burps, and keeps going. “Excuse me.” Being a boy mom means getting used to body fluids, weird smells, and constant mayhem. But nothing about this fazes Lance.
Dinner, homework, shower, I try to continue the routine I built before. But here things are different.
Lance helps me unpack a bit more of our chaos, trying to fit our old life onto new shelves.
“OH MY GOD!” He lifts a framed picture. “Is this Joseph wearing Mickey Mouse ears and hugging Stitch?”
I take the frame from him. It was taken last summer. Dad was always focused on the Life. The Job. But he is a pretty excellent grandfather. Mom organized everything—the tickets, the hotel, and even what days we went to each park. She was a taskmaster, and with military precision she insisted that Drew meet every character. Dad stood next to us the whole time, not checking his phone, not barking orders, smiling and taking pictures with people in cartoon animal costumes.
There were plenty of nights where I felt like a failure, that there was a whole life I couldn’t give my son. But that trip, the one time I swallowed my pride and accepted help I didn’t realize they were offering, was pretty perfect. I sort of felt we were on the road to recovery.
When it came to money and Drew, I didn’t ask anything from my parents. But we struck a deal. Dad had budgets for my prom, a new car, and a graduation party. But since that wasn’t going to happen, he cut me a check. We had all convinced ourselves that it wasn’t a handout or a loan. It was a redistribution of allocated funds from one project to another.
I was careful with the money. I didn’t use it until I had hit that milestone on my own terms. Instead of a car worthy of an underlord’s offspring, I bought the Geo Metro for five hundred dollars. The rest of the money I used on gas and repairs. Hell, I still had some cash left over from my dad’s check. I took night classes to pass my GED before Drew was born, and my graduation money paid for daycare and food. My prom budget was for Drew’s baby clothes. I lived and died off of secondhand shops and freebie websites. When I worked at the Waffle House, all my tips were used for Drew’s toys and books.
Last year I started working at a tax firm, doing basic paperwork stuff, preparing taxes for six months of the year. That job had healthcare, good staff, and Bagel Mondays. There was a real glass conference table and everything. I felt like an adult…I already missed Bagel Mondays.
I was debt free and had no attachments…until a few weeks ago.
“Um yeah. My mom had all those shirts and costumes made for us. We all got Mickey ears. Dad and Donnie would open and close the park, while Mom and I focused on Drew. Joey bounced between both of us.”
“Can I have this as my Christmas card?”
“I guess seeing Joey as an actual human being is hard to imagine.” His dad and mom died when he was young. He stayed with Nonna, but Dad raised him in the family business. Joey had a knack for business and building, just like his dad. Or that’s what MY dad would say.
I don’t remember Uncle Tommy. He was the black sheep of the family. He was legit, no dirty money went through his construction business. I’m not sure if that’s what got him killed or not. I don’t know if Joey even knows.
Once Drew is in bed, Lance leans against the fridge, watching me. “There are a few things I need to know that are not in your case file.”
Uh oh, here it comes. “Why did I leave my family?”
Lance glances at the tile floor. “You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with, but I do need to know as much as you’re willing to give me. I can’t protect you with only half of the information.” His eyes meet mine. “Besides, criminal underworld aside, your family is pretty great.”
Time to test out the new breakfast barstools because I know this story requires me to sit. “I ran before they could send me away. I was young and scared. And Drew’s father was being super creepy. It was one time, and he was all, ‘You’re mine forever.’ And I wanted nothing to do with him. So I took off. Spent time with my mom’s family.
“When Drew was born, I reached out to Mom. No one said come home, so I didn’t. Donnie and Joey sent money, Mom called every day. Drew was three when Dad started calling too. But I got the impression they were doing it because Nonna was forcing them.
“Drew and I settled into our own routine. But about a month ago, Mike, my ex, showed up at my door. He’s all, ‘I want to be a part of my son’s life, blah blah blah.’”
Lance’s expression is hard to read. Is he being all judgy? Angry at me? Or worse, does he feel bad for me?
“He was fine when we met back in high school, but once we had sex, he got all clingy and possessive. But you know, people grow and mature. So, I decided to give him a second chance. That was a mistake.” Remembering the change in his voice, the thick darkness when he started yelling, makes me shiver.
“We went out to dinner, but I kept him away from Drew. I didn’t want Mike near my son until he passed the red flag tests. He failed. He started saying shit like, ‘It’s all your family’s fault we aren’t together.’ And when I told him, ‘No, I took off on my own,’ that’s when he got mad.”
The pain in my ribs awakens, like it knows I’m thinking about it. When my hand drifts toward my ribs, all the golden flecks in Lance’s eyes vanish into darkness.
“Anyway, things got rough. When it was over, I called Waverly, who ratted me out to my family. Hours later, Donnie and Joey were at my place, demanding I come home. And poof, I’m here.”
Lance is silent for longer than I’m comfortable with. “And your ex didn’t have any contact with you for ten years? Why now?”
I shake my head and rub my arms as a phantom breeze swirls through my kitchen. “I’m trying to figure that out.”
“How do you feel about Waverly telling your family?”
“Waverly hated that I was so far away. She’d been looking for an excuse for me to come home for a while. I guess she saw the opportunity and took it. I can’t fault her for that.”
Lance rubs his chin, “Sounds like everyone has your best interest in mind. Except you.”
Well, I could’ve done without that last statement. The stress of the past few days sucker punches me, exhaustion clings like one of those blanket coat things. “I should go to bed.”
He nods. “Stand with me while I do a sweep of Champ’s room, and I’ll do yours and be out of your hair.”
My back aches, and my shoulders feel stiffer than Joey’s socks in high school. I plop on the couch, “So you’re here all night?”
Lance looks up from working on the pile of boxes delivered this morning. “Pretty much.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“Hallway, outside, after I do a sweep of the area.”
“What?”
“I’m sure you don’t want some strange man staying in the same place as your son while you’re both sleeping,” he shrugs. “My job is to make sure you feel safe. And if that’s even the tiniest concern in your mind, it’s completely worth it.”
Hmm. Lots of people have given me creepy vibes—men my dad worked with, customers at The Waffle House—but no red flags from Lance. Weird, he passed the red flag test without me being aware I gave it.
No red flags, just self-inflicted stop signs.
“Do you have a folding chair?”
“No, I’m going to stand.”
“Now that seems like a human rights violation.”
“Most of my job is boring and standing. I’m kinda used to it. A bad day is an exciting one.”
I guess this is protocol. I didn’t have protection back when I was a kid. Seems like everyone is on high alert now.
I stand in the doorway as he silently sweeps Drew’s room. He does a lap, checking the windows and closets. I don’t know why he does this. It seems like a stupid waste. I mean, if an assassin showed up in the fifteen minutes since his last sweep, we all deserve to die, and the assassin should get a raise.
I yawn, my feet feel like blocks of concrete, and my shoulders are killing me. I look longingly at my bed as Lance stands next to it. It’s so inviting. Hmm, maybe it’s more inviting because he’s there. STOP IT.
“Good night, I’ll see you in the morning.” His eyes burn into mine.
“Um, night.” I stand in my assassin-free empty room until I hear the front door close and lock. Then I take an outrageously hot shower, change into fuzzy pants, and crawl into bed. The pillow is cold, and the blanket hugs me. I’ve never felt more comfortable. And Lance is standing outside my apartment door.
My ceiling has five water stains that sort of look like an armadillo and a mermaid. Well, not like one armadillo-mermaid mash-up creature of nightmares, but if you squint, three of the stains kinda look like a mermaid, and the other two are an armadillo. Damn, how many times did I say the word armadillo? And why do I always picture it with a bandana and a cowboy hat?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Yep, I am comfortable.
So warm and snuggly.
Thinking about cowboy armadillos and mermaids and not about Lance standing in the hallway. Yep. I’m not worried about what the neighbors will think, or if his legs are going to hurt, or how he’s going to spend the next…how many hours? Eight. Jesus Christ.
No, not thinking about that at all.
Just an armadillo-mermaid mash-up.
Now the mermaid has a shell bra, a cowboy hat, and a bandana around her neck. And a weird armadillo tail.
Yep. That’s in my head now.
FUCK!
The blankets fall to the floor, and next thing I know I’m trudging through my minefield living room and flinging open the door. Well, that’s not accurate either. I spent a few seconds fighting with the stupid lock.
Lance’s big stupidly beautiful eyes travel across my body. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
I grab his arm and yank him inside. “No, I have a mermadillo stuck in my head, and you’re standing in the hallway like a weirdo.”
He drags his hand across his face and sighs. “I’m the weirdo? Doing the job your family is paying me to do? I don’t even know what the hell a mermadillo is.”
I start to explain my brain and stop. He’s stuck with me for a while. “Look, can you do the same job sitting on my couch?”
“Not nearly as effectively. “
“But if you’re in here, I’m safer than if you’re not. Right? Because right now, I’m freaking out that you’re standing out in the hallway, and my neighbors will definitely have opinions, and I haven’t even met them yet.”
“Do you want their background checks?”
“No! Come inside, sit on my couch, and make sure my son and I aren’t murdered in the middle of the night. Okay? I don’t even care if you read a book or something. Just be here,” I point to the floor, “and not out there.” I gesture wildly in the direction of the door, like that will make my point.
His face squinches up, and he rubs the collar of his stupid polo shirt he wore because I asked him to, and he fucking listened, unlike every other man in my life.
“It’s a breach of my contract, but if that will make you feel safer, I can stay here.”
I throw my hands in the air like it’s some obvious victory. It isn’t. But I don’t care either. “Thank you. Now I can go to bed.”
He looks at my empty bookshelf. “Can I listen to a book on my phone? I’ll keep it really low.”
“Whatever.” I head back to my room.
He follows me a few steps and points to my ceiling. “Did you notice your water stains look like an anteater?”
“Mermadillo,” I say, and shut the door behind me.
I climb back into my cozy bed, and for the first time in weeks, I feel good. Safe. Warm. And I sleep.