Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Derek
He says two things when he throws the bedroom door open and turns on the blinding light:
“Janelle, pack your bags,” and “You, come with me.”
Jae sits up in bed and blinks in confusion. Then she’s muffling a scream with her hand and her eyes dart between me and her uncle.
She nearly falls out of bed, throwing the covers. “Uncle Rowan. Wait—”
He holds up his hand. Stop. Then stands frozen in the doorway with his arms crossed like Mr. Clean. A steady heat seems to be rising from his skin, like steam. Like he could grab me by the throat and sear me.
“He needed a place to stay,” Jae says, hurrying toward him. “He had—”
The way her uncle looks at her. She snaps her mouth shut. I hear the clamp of her teeth.
My heart is twisting, my chest tight, my breath shallow. “I …” I shake my head. “I wanted to see the moon.” A laugh escapes me. How stupid could I be?
I avoid Jae’s eyes, walk over to the closet, and take out my bagged clothes. I pull on my jeans, flushing red as I look down at my green boxers. Not wanting to strip down any more, I throw my hoodie over Jae’s shirt.
“Sir. We didn’t … you know. We didn’t,” I say.
He ignores me. Points at Jae and says, “Pack your bags.”
He turns to go and I look at Jae, and she’s crying. Her lips trembling. I step toward her, and she shakes her head. Just go, she mouths.
“Hey!” Her uncle’s voice booms from the hallway, making me jump. I grab my bag and race after him.
He doesn’t ask me where I live, and I don’t ask where he’s going. I already know. He’s gonna throw me to the gators. They’ll never find my body. He stares straight ahead, fisting the steering wheel. The streetlights glow against his dark skin.
Green light. Tires screech. My head slams against the headrest.
Red light. I fly forward against the taut seat belt. I hang on to the door, too scared to reach for the handle at the roof in case he might sense my fear.
He cracks all the windows, and I know he smells the smoke clinging to my clothes. How much more could this man hate me?
“Please don’t make her leave, sir,” I finally manage to say. “It was my fault. I should have gone somewhere else. It was my fault.”
He grunts loud, like a boar, and I shut my mouth.
Every so often he breathes in through his nose loud, like he’s trying to put out a fire inside. And then I’m surprised when he pulls into my neighborhood and stops at the rickety chain-link fence.
“How …” I mutter, and he steps out of the car and slams the door. His large shadow thunders through the dark yard and I don’t know what I’m more scared of, him or what he’ll find inside the house.
He turns around now, and I shake off the fear and open the car door. How dumb am I? To end up in the same place I was only a few hours ago. Except now it’s worse. Now I’ve ruined everything for me and for Jae.
He waits at the door, towering over me as I climb up the creaky porch and fumble for my key.
“Um …” I say when I finally put my key in the lock. “Thanks for driving me home?”
“What do you think this was, door-to-door service?” he asks in a voice octaves lower than mine. “I want to talk to your mother.”
“But how do you even know—”
“I know who you are. You think I don’t know who you are? I know who you are, Derek Patel.” His eyes bore deep into mine. “Open the door.”
I’m not in the business of letting people in who demand entry.
But considering I was just in his house, and he found me undressed in his niece’s room.
Well. I have to make an exception. I open the door.
It feels like the darkest corner of space in here.
It doesn’t smell like his house, that cinnamon-spice stuff people sprinkle on everything in the fall.
Here it’s the gentle waft of alcohol souring in the carpet, the overpowering notes of cigarette smoke, the je-ne-sais-quoi of spoiled food you can’t identify.
I turn on the light, hurry to throw away an old dinner container on the counter.
Jae’s uncle steps in. “Where’s your mother?”
I suck in a breath. “Listen. My mom’s not doing good, okay. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I know you really wanna talk to her, but sir, please. She’s not doing good.”
He squints behind glasses that reflect the yellow kitchen light. His eyes stay on me for a while before he steps into the hall, his retreating footsteps quiet against the carpet. I lean over the counter, bury my head in my arms, pound the cold surface with my fist.
I turn around when I hear his footsteps come back. His eyes have lost some of their hellfire blaze.
“There’s a whole lot of bottles on the table. Painkillers and scotch.”
I don’t say anything.
“Hers or yours?” he asks.
“Definitely not mine.”
He shakes his head. “I thought as much. And your lip?”
“An accident.”
He purses his lips. “If you ever need help, you come to me, you hear? To me.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black-and-gold business card. ROWAN OAKLAND, CORPORATE ATTORNEY. “And you know where I live.” He says this last thing stiffly.
I stuff the card into my jeans and he leans against the counter, crosses one foot over the other, and runs a hand over his goatee.
He sighs. “Let’s get to it, Derek. All right?
Now, you got a woman in there”—he stretches his hand down the hall toward the living room where he just came from—“a little on the thin side, to put it mildly, passed out on the couch. I’d think she was dead but she’s snoring like the Tasmanian devil.
Now, something tells me she’s taking more than the recommended dose. ”
My eyes flick down the hall, but I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to be here.
He takes off his glasses and slowly cleans them on his shirt.
“Your dad passed away, is that right? I’m sorry to hear that.
I didn’t have a father around. Father figures are important.
” He slides his glasses back on his nose and squints at me.
“Janelle hasn’t had a father around for a long time.
She’s had a lot of heartbreak. Trauma. Now.
How are you, how is your situation going to help her in any way?
” He looks around the kitchen, taking in every square inch of it, and then shakes his head again.
“This isn’t the kind of place I want her to be.
And you’re not the kind of boy I want her to be with. ”
Thwack. It couldn’t have hurt more if he’d punched me. I stuff my hands into my pockets and clench my fists, trying to ignore that shrinking feeling, that feeling that I’ll eventually disappear.
“You were in her room. In her room. In my house, under my roof, half naked in your goddamned boxers.” He takes a step toward me, like his anger has found new fuel.
“Sir. It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Are you gonna tell me you didn’t touch that girl?
You gonna tell me that?” His eyes are daring me to lie.
I look away, and he scoffs. “I wasn’t born yesterday.
I’m doing all I can to keep that girl in line, and you come along.
What’s so great about you, huh? What do you have that’s worth her losing everything for? ”
I swallow a lump in my throat.
He takes a deep breath, arms up in half surrender, and steps back to lean against the counter again. “Look. I was a boy once. I know how it is. You take it where you can get it—”
“No.” Now my anger flashes and I stand up straight. “That’s not me. You can say what you want about me not being good enough. Fine. Whatever. Maybe I’m not. But I would never just … I wasn’t taking advantage of her. I wouldn’t do that.”
He nods slowly and rubs his goatee. “She was talking about that poetry club. All you kids in there. She said something about you. You’re a good athlete.
You’re smart. You have a lot of potential.
But I can’t sugarcoat what I see.” He breathes in deep and shakes his head.
“She doesn’t need any more loss or unstable relationships.
I’m what she needs right now. You understand?
Stability. Support. Someone who will always be there for her.
You’ll just bring her a lot of tears and trouble, whether you mean to or not.
And I don’t think you mean to, son. But she deserves better than that. ”
His eyes flick to my lip and I instinctively tuck it inside my mouth. I find my head nodding. He’s right. Jae deserves better.
“Now, if what Janelle says is true,” he continues, “if you have that potential, I want to help you out.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a checkbook.
He flips it open and walks over to the kitchen counter.
I hear the click of a pen and I see the back of his tall body, his hand scribbling something on the paper.
“Your mom won’t be able to help you much with college, but I can. ”
I almost laugh from shock. He’s going to give me money. Enough money that I won’t have to work at Old-Timer every week and during the summer. My stomach turns. My throat feels thick.
“I don’t want it,” I say, my voice tight. The words come out before I can stop them, but once they’re out, I know they’re right.
“What did you say?” He turns around, his hand still poised over the check.
“I don’t want your money.” My voice is clear this time. “I’ll get a scholarship or I won’t go to college at all, but I won’t take your money.”
I want him gone. My eyes scan the kitchen counter for my cigarettes, and the fact that I can’t remember where I last put them makes me want to punch something.
Jae’s uncle stands still, watching me. Watching my chest rise high as I control my breathing. Watching my hands flex into fists at my side. Watching my feet plant themselves wide. “Please get out. Sir.”
I hear the click of the pen, and then he’s putting the checkbook back in his pocket, still watching me. “Don’t be too proud to accept help, Derek. Are you sure?”
“I have nothing, right? I don’t even have parents I can count on. But at least I have my pride.”
He blinks a few times and gives a perfunctory, closed-mouth smile before he walks out the door.