Breakaway (25 page)

At first I just walked aimlessly, but after a while my feet carried me to the pavilion where we went with Cheryl and Jordie on my doomed first date with Raine.

With the sun down it didn't take long to get cold deep in the woods under the trees, but I didn't get up to head home, just kept drinking until I felt warmer. Every once in a while I thought about walking to the Pike to catch a bus to Raine's neighborhood but would then quickly dismiss the idea. The sooner I forgot about her, the better.

I don't know how long I sat there, drinking and trying to forget everything, when a pair of headlights cut through the trees. A car was coming down the road into the park, its only possible destination the parking lot next to the pavilion where I sat. My first thought was that it might be Raine, coming to look for me, wanting to talk things through. And, honestly, that was what I was hoping. I went back and forth between wishing she would magically turn up down at the park to find me, and wishing I would never see her again.

By the time I realized the car was not Raine's, that it was, in fact, a cop car with two uniformed officers in it, it was too late for me to get very far. Sure, I could have cut into the woods and easily outrun them, but I was just so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of running.

So, I sat there, doing nothing but hitting the bottle a couple more times before tossing it in the metal wire trash can a few feet from where I sat.

They got out of the car slowly once they realized I had no intention of running. An older cop had been driving, with a younger cop, probably only a few years older than me, riding shotgun. They sauntered over with that kind of walk unique to cops, forced rigid posture from their bulletproof vests, the movement of their hips stiff from all the gear they wore on their belts.

I saw the older one sizing me up, but he looked almost bored, like he couldn't believe he got the shit assignment of busting kids drinking down in the park.

“Evening,” the older cop said, his friendliness too forced to be real.

I just nodded at him and stayed where I was, didn't want to come across as a threat. I kept my hands on the picnic table where they could see them. The older cop was still eyeing me closely, taking in my hoodie and the marks on my face from last night's fight. It didn't take him long to make his assumptions about me, fit me into a neat little box of limited potential.

“If I look in that trash can, am I going to find some booze?” he asked. The younger cop still hadn't said anything but he kept a hand on the nightstick at his waist as if in silent warning.

“Yes,” I said. “A bottle of rum.”

“That right?”

It wasn't a real question that demanded an answer. I had already told him everything he needed to know, so I kept my mouth shut.

“You got ID on you, kid?” the older cop asked as he shifted the weight of his gun belt on his hips.

“No,” I said.

“What's your name?”

“Jason.”

“Last name?” he said impatiently.

“Marshall.”

“Uh-huh,” he said absently as he wrote something down on his pad of paper.

“Your folks know where you are?” he asked, watching my face for the lie he thought was coming.

I shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Oh, you guess not?” he said, his tone chiding. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” I said.

“Well, since you're a minor, we're going to have to take you home to your parents. Release you into their custody. Where'd you get the booze?” he asked, not really expecting a straight answer.

“I got some homeless guy to buy it for me at the liquor store up the road,” I lied easily. The wrath of the cops didn't scare me, but Chris would rearrange my face if the stolen booze got traced back to him.

“That still works, huh?” the older cop asked as he and the younger cop exchanged a laugh. To me he said, “What's your address? And just so you know, if you give me a fake address I'm taking you straight to the police station to let you spend the night in the drunk tank and your folks will be picking you up there.”

“It's just my dad,” I said. “He's at work.” This was the lesser of two evils. I didn't want the cops coming to the apartment. There was a good chance Mom would be too out of it to handle me getting brought home by the cops. I didn't want her to have one of her freak-outs in front of strangers, especially not ones who were armed and carried handcuffs. They might be tempted to take her away to a loony bin.

“Where does your dad work?”

“Bad Habits, the place on the Pike. He owns the place.”

“Chris Marshall is your dad, huh?” the older cop asked. “I know him. Went to school with him, as a matter of fact. He know you're out? Or does he think you're at home watching television?”

“I'm not sure he spends much time thinking about it either way,” I said.

The cop looked a little uncomfortable, maybe sorry for me, and for a second I thought he was just going to turn me loose, let me off the hook. He sighed and said, “Well, we can't leave you out here on your own. I know you kids think it's cool to party down here, but it's dangerous. Lots of bad types hanging around. Come on.” His partner moved to stand behind me as the older cop came alongside me and put a hand on my elbow. As I stood he directed me to one side and started patting my pockets, the sides of my hoodie, and put a hand at the small of my back to make sure there was no weapon tucked into my waistband.

“You got anything on you that you shouldn't have?” he asked as he patted down the sides of my legs and then had me turn to look at him.

“No, sir. Just the booze.”

“You on anything else? Been doing any narcotics?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he said once he was sure that I wasn't concealing a weapon. “Hop on in the back.” He gestured for me to get in the backseat of the squad car as he went to open the door.

It was a short ride to Bad Habits, only about three minutes from where the cops found me in the park. They pulled around to the back door, and I sat in the car with the younger cop while the other one went in through the kitchen to find Chris. The older cop and Chris emerged a few minutes later, talking and laughing about something.

“Here he is,” the cop said as he opened the car door and gestured for me to climb out.

Chris didn't say anything, just pursed his lips as he shook his head.

“When he told me you were his dad I thought he was pulling my leg for a minute. Didn't know you had a kid,” the older cop said. “But once he said it, I could see the resemblance. Looks a lot like you did when you were that age.”

“Yeah, unfortunately he got my shitty attitude too,” Chris said wryly.

The cop laughed. “Seems like an okay kid. Didn't get an attitude with us like most of them do.”

“Hey, thanks for bringing him to me, Hugo,” Chris said as he stuck out his hand to shake. “I appreciate you bringing the boy to me instead of making me come and get him out of the holding tank. Say thank you,” Chris said with a threatening tap on my shoulder.

“Thanks for being cool about it,” I said to the older cop, Hugo, and directed a nod at the younger one, who had barely looked up from his phone while the rest of us stood talking.

The cops saddled up and drove away, and before their taillights had cleared the building, Chris directed me inside with a gesture. “You wait in the office while I get someone to cover the bar.” He walked me to the office to make sure I didn't split as soon as he turned around. He stood in the doorway and waited while I took a seat on the couch. As he turned to walk out of the office he stopped in the doorway to say, “Hey, and just so you know, I'm not a total idiot. When I take liquor from the office to restock the bar I take it from the
front
of the row, not the back, so you aren't fooling anyone. And don't think I didn't notice when you helped yourself to a bottle of vodka either. I'll be taking both of those out of your paycheck.”

“Can I get it at the wholesale price?” I asked. His eyes went hard and the muscles along his jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth. He left without another word and banged the door shut hard enough that he almost split the wood on the doorjamb.

 

 

My feet were up on Chris's desk when he came to get me a few minutes later and he shoved my legs so that my feet fell to the floor. We exchanged glares while Chris waited to see if I would give him any lip. I just shrugged and averted my gaze, let him win that round.

Chris drove me home and we rode in silence until he said, “I'm not going to get all preachy, partly because I know you won't really listen, and partly because I don't have a right to say much, but you got lucky tonight. Lucky those cops were cool about bringing you to me instead of dragging your ass down to the station. You're going to be eighteen soon. Which means real trouble for you if you keep making bad choices.”

“Who the hell are you to talk to me about bad choices?” I asked.

“I'm your goddamn father. That still counts for something, doesn't it?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

“It doesn't count for much,” I said. “Man, you were never around. You think because you sent a check every month you get to have some say in my life?” I posed it as a question but didn't give him a chance to answer. “Oh, that's right. I forgot. You were too busy partying to give a shit.”

The leather steering wheel cover groaned as he twisted his grip around it. “I'm sorry, Jaz. I really am. I was a kid when you were born. But I've been trying. These past few years I've been trying to be there for you. I haven't even been a day late on a support payment in years.”

“It's not about the money!” I said, my voice raised to almost a shout. “It's about every time I needed you and you weren't there. Every time you said you were going to show up for a game and then blew me off. Every time you showed up late for weekend visitation because you were too hungover to get there on time. I don't give a fuck about the money.”

“I know that,” he said, his voice sounding thick, like he might cry. “I know I fucked up by not being around more when you were little.”

“You know what, why are you even trying to act like you care all of a sudden?” I asked. “Just forget it.” My gut was starting to ache and I wanted the conversation to be done. I thought about telling him to pull over and let me out on the side of the street, but I knew he wouldn't.

“Is that what you think?” he asked. “That I don't care?”

I rested my head against the cool of the glass window, my anger spent. “I don't think about it much,” I mumbled. “Not anymore.”

“Don't give me that shit,” he snapped. “You take hits at me all the time. You want me to feel bad about it. Want me to feel like shit for the rest of my life because I wasn't the father you wanted me to be. Well, you know what? I feel bad about it every time I look at you—hell, every time I think about you. But I can't change it now. I can't go back in time and make it right with you.” He was out of breath, his chest rising and falling quickly as he slammed the side of his fist against the steering wheel.

The silence stretched on for so long I thought that would be the end of the conversation. When he spoke again his voice sounded hollow, like all the emotion had left him. “Your aunt called me when your sister died. She thought I should know. As soon as I answered the phone, I could tell from her voice that something was wrong. At first I thought she was calling to tell me something had happened to you. When she said that Sylvia had died it was such a relief.” He paused, but I knew he wasn't finished. “I felt bad about that later, bad that I was glad it had been her instead of you. But there it is.

“Maybe I'm not any good at showing it, but you're my son, Jaz. I do care about what happens to you. I love you. You're the only good thing I ever accomplished with my life. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, though without much conviction. “Just don't expect me to start calling you Dad.” He laughed, like I knew he would, and let me have the last word for once.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Monday morning, Mom was at the table drinking coffee when I woke up. I went into the kitchen to pour a mug for myself before getting in the shower. I walked right by her on the way to the kitchen without saying anything, and she kept her gaze on the table so we didn't have to make eye contact. As much silence as there had been between us over the past few months it was impossible to break it, like if you did it too suddenly it would shatter whatever comfort was left in the apartment for both of us.

That's why it startled me so much when Mom said, “You got home late last night.”

“Working,” I said. Chris would never in a million years call her to tell her I had been busted by the cops so I knew she wasn't digging for any dirt.

“Oh. You've been working a lot lately,” she said quietly as I moved into the kitchen doorway, one shoulder leaned against the doorjamb. “Thanks for doing the shopping.”

“You're welcome,” I said with a nod.

“And I know you've been staying on top of keeping the house clean. I appreciate it.”

She looked so small, and young, like a little girl with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. She sat holding her coffee mug with both hands, as if it were all that was holding her up, or holding her together.

“Were you in a fight?” she asked as her eyes searched my face, as if seeing me for the first time.

“It's nothing,” I said, though my face ached more now after a day of healing than it had on Saturday night.

“A girl called for you yesterday,” Mom said. “Her name was Raine. She called a couple of times, actually.”

“Yeah?” I asked, keeping my voice casual though my heart had started to race at the mention of Raine's name, the heat creeping up my neck as I thought about how I had walked out on her like a coward Saturday night.