Chapter 7 Grudge #2
I look away. While there is nothing sexual in the kiss, it feels like the least I can do is give them some privacy. It’s awkward, because Dad is only allowed one visitation a day. So, we either both have to come in together as one family, or only one of us gets to see him.
Because I have club business to discuss with Dad, and Mom understands that we come in together, she always leaves about fifteen minutes before the end of our allotted time so I can talk with Dad as privately as you can in a correctional facility.
“Grudge,” Dad says, always using my road name. “Did you bring it?”
I pull out the photograph I’ve got in my pocket.
It’s folded up four times. A picture of me in my new cut because you aren’t allowed to wear club colors for a prison visit.
Dad runs his fingers over the president’s patch, then glances up at me with tears in his eyes.
“Hard to believe. I’m proud of you, Son. ”
“Thanks, Dad.” He made it to enforcer before he went inside. Arguably, being the enforcer is the reason he’s in prison, but there isn’t a speck of bitterness in him about it.
Mom puts her arm over my shoulder. “He’s done good, hasn’t he?”
“He has that. Maybe I should start calling you Prez.”
I shake my head. “That would be too weird.”
We chat for a little while. Mundane things.
Mom tells him about things happening in their nephew’s and niece’s lives.
How Cara had a baby and gave her some ridiculous name.
How Jo-Jo’s boyfriend proposed, but my Uncle Sam, Dad’s brother, said no wedding until the guy had a job.
She tells him she might have to pay to have a plumber come out because the hot water has become inconsistent.
I glance in her direction. “Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t working properly? I could have called someone out.”
She waves me away. “I can do it by myself. And I needed to chat with your dad before I spent that much money.”
I have an idea, something that might get around the money issue my parents always have.
Toward the end of their time together, I turn from them, shifting as far away as possible on the benches that wrap around the tables, and just glance at the floor so they can say other things to each other in private.
There must be some secret to how you keep a relationship like theirs alive. I can’t imagine a sexless relationship. But what Mom and Dad have transcends that. Sometimes, I drop Mom and just wait outside, and come back another day to see Dad. But today, I need to speak with him.
My stomach flips a little at what I’m gonna ask. But club business is club business, after all.
“Separate,” I hear a guard say. A sure sign my parents were making out like teenagers. Even though I can’t see them, I smile. It’s rare these days to have parents who aren’t divorced and still love each other deeply.
Mom’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “He’s all yours. I’ll wait in the truck.”
“When you grab our things, get the keys out of my coat pocket. Turn it on so you can keep warm.”
“I will. Bye, sweetie,” she says, waving at Dad.
And he waves, watching her until she’s completely vanished from sight. And even then, his gaze lingers where she once was for a second or two before shifting to me.
“Did you ever think of letting Mom go while you were in here?” I ask him as I turn back around.
Dad grins and nods. “Four times. I’ve told her to go be happy. Told her I wouldn’t mind if she looked for sex and intimacy outside of our marriage. Told her I’d even divorce her if she fell in love with someone else. But she isn’t having any of it. Said our vows were for better or worse.”
“She’s such a strong woman,” I say, unembarrassed to admit I really admire my mom’s strength.
“She is that. Last of the old-time old ladies. She’s in it for life. She once said when you love someone this much, you don’t let go.”
I think about Lucy. Occasionally, in quieter moments, I wonder what it was. I wonder what made her go from committing her life and body to my care forever, to not even having the courage to come talk to me face-to-face.
My heart sank when I found out she’d left for Harvard, for her undergrad. Her dream.
And I’d been left behind like I was debris from her old life.
“What do you need, Son?” Dad asks finally.
“Couple of things. I need you to get okay with me paying Mom some money. She won’t take it from me directly, but if I tell her the club is adjusting how much they pay out to you a month for inflation, I can transfer some of my pay to her without hurting her pride.”
Dad rubs his hands over his face. “It’s the only thing I regret. Not being able to look after your mom myself, properly, is killing me slowly. Financially, personally, emotionally.”
I reach across the table and grip his wrist. “I know. Which is why we’re just going to be pragmatic. Father and son. We manage it together, yeah?”
Dad sighs and then nods. “I’ll tell her you communicated the inflationary raise. And tell her to keep it to herself.”
“Thank you. And we need you…” My words trail off. Asking my dad to do something that will likely end with him in solitary for a period, sticks in my throat.
This time, Dad reaches for my arm. “Just ask. It’s okay, Son.”
“We need an eight on me for three,” I say.
Atom’s grandfather came up with this idea that the club should have its own language for asking people to do things in prison. You never know when your conversation is listened in on.
An eight, a serious beat down.
Me, my equivalent role, in this case, the president of a rival club.
Three, the Midtown Rebels.
Wes Granger was removed as the president of the Midtown Rebels shortly after Wraith’s wife and child were killed two years ago.
We never found out if it was because he gave the authorization for their death or not, and Wraith was never able to find him to kill him.
He was replaced by a biker called Hooper, who is the current president.
It’s Hooper who is currently inside serving six months for something to do with a bad traffic stop.
We decided that an internal attack on him might lead to a filtering of messages to his men to leave our club and territory alone.
Dad nods. “Understood. When?”
“Within the week. I hate asking.”
Dad grins. “Don’t be. I’d do it for my club. But doing it for my son as president would be an honor.”