The Way Back from Broken (6 page)

Rakmen shook his head. “Not me. I wanna buy a car.”

“That's my man,” said Ray. “Then you'll be a paying customer.” He slid Rakmen's job application under the counter. “I'm sure this'll work out, son. We'll have a good time.”

Rakmen nodded. It was cool with Ray. You could be chill around him. Talk about cars and fishing and stuff. Ray wasn't always breathing down his neck. The bell at the front door rang as a customer came in. Time to go.

“Don't forget about the barbecue on Memorial Day,” Rakmen said, as he headed for the exit. “Mom wants you to come early and keep Dad out of trouble.”

“I'll be there,” said Ray, “and don't worry about your mom and dad, kid. They'll get through this. You all will.”

CHAPTER 6

On Memorial Day, Rakmen was in his mother's tamale assembly line with Juan, D'Vareay, D'Mareay, and Jacey. The girl dunked corn husks in a huge pot of water, pulling the yellow squares out with a flourish that sprayed water over the rest of them.

“Watch it,” grunted D'Mareay as he rolled soft, pale dough into balls.

“Sorry,” said Jacey and went back to submerging the tamale wrappers.

Juan took a dough ball from D'Mareay and patted it flat on the corn husk. “Is she coming?” Rakmen plunked down a spoonful of shredded pork in spicy, smoky chili sauce and ignored him. “Serious, man,” said Juan, “I need to clamp eyes on the hotness. The way you clam up you must be all over her.”

D'Vareay caught Rakmen's eye as they placed newly wrapped and tied tamales in the ever-growing pile of yellow rectangles. “She coming?”

“Yeah,” Rakmen said, half-wishing Molly wouldn't be. This was other-side-of-the-tracks territory for her, and Juan was being an asshole. Rakmen smelled lighter fluid and heard a whoosh of flame from the backyard. Through the kitchen window he could see his dad, Ray, and Jacey's dad chatting over the now-roaring charcoal.

“I think Molly's super pretty,” Jacey piped in, “except for that scar.”

“Scar?” said Juan. “You didn't tell me she was messed up. Kinky.”

“She got it when—” Jacey began, but Rakmen put a dough-covered hand over her mouth.

Jacey slapped away his hand and pummeled the tamale wrappers. It would be a miracle if she kept her mouth shut. Jacey moistened another corn husk and handed it to Juan, refusing to look at any of them.

“Keeping secrets doesn't make it go away,” Jacey whispered.

“Out!” Rakmen roared, pointing through the back door.

Jacey shoved the pot, sending water slopping over the edge and across the counter. “I'm not helping you anymore.”

She stomped out of the kitchen, and Rakmen mopped up the water with a towel, cursing.

“I see you already got a girlfriend,” said Juan, thumbing at Jacey. “Guess that leaves Blondie for me.”

“Leave it, man,” said D'Vareay. “Molly's not for you.”

Rakmen and D'Mareay tensed. They knew what D'Vareay meant, and they also knew that Juan would take it wrong.

Sure enough, he threw back his shoulders. “You don't think I'm good enough for her?”

“It's not that,” said Rakmen.

Juan exhaled loudly, the expression on his face full of questions he wouldn't ask.
What happened to you, man? We were friends, weren't we?

Rakmen looked away.

There was no point explaining. Promise House was wet concrete. It caught and held them, hardening around their limbs until they couldn't move.

“Good enough for who?” said Rakmen's mom, leading Molly and her mom through the house toward the backyard.

“For Mrs. Tatlas,” Rakmen blurted. “Juan and I were talking about how hard her class is.”

Molly raised an I-don't-believe-you eyebrow, but his mom went all boot-camp. “You will be good enough for her,
mijo
.
¿Si? ¿Si?
”

For the moment, he didn't care about his plummeting grades. What mattered was that Molly didn't think he was talking about her like she was a piece of ass. He liked her scar and her funny-sad sense of humor and even her sister, who he'd never get to meet. Juan was right. Rakmen was no player. But being with Molly made him feel like he wasn't up against a wall. Something more was possible.

“Do you need any help?” Molly asked.

Rakmen grinned at her and tied a strip of corn husk around the last tamale. “My work here is done,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Here you go, Mom.”

“
¿Finito? Que bueno, mijo
.” His mom squeezed his arm. “You are free.”

He led them outside where Jacey and the neighbor girl, Denise, were gyrating around the yard in hula hoops.

“Hi, Molly!” Jacey yelled. “We're having a contest!” In her excitement, she clipped Denise's hoop, sending it clattering to the ground. “I win! I'm the queen!”

“You cheated!” Denise hucked a dirt-covered Barbie at Jacey, whose hoop went flying.

“Barbie butt!”

“Dog nose!”

“Girls!” roared Jacey's dad, and Molly rushed over to help them work it out.

“Got any ear plugs?” Rakmen whispered to his dad, who winked at him and pulled two beers from the cooler, handing one to Ray and one to Jacey's dad.

“By all that is holy, I wish those two had volume control,” he said, tipping back his beer.

Rakmen and the boys grabbed sodas and sat on the deck in the sun. Rakmen sat quietly nursing his Coke and trying to take stock. It was good to hear his dad talking about cars and the NBA draft. It was good to smell the lingering bite of lighter fluid over coals. Two more weeks, and he'd be done with school. One less thing for him to fail at. If he could get a job, earn some real money, there might be a way out after all.

An hour later, after the tamales had been steamed and the steaks charred, they were all crammed into the dining room around the regular table plus two more folding ones borrowed from a neighbor.

“Join hands,” said his mother. Molly was across from Rakmen between Jacey and D'Vareay. “Come on, boys,” his mom urged. With a groan, Rakmen reached toward Juan and D'Mareay. As far as he was concerned they were close enough already, but they clasped woodenly and bowed their heads.

“Dear Lord,” his mother began, “we are so grateful to be together, to be fed, to be sheltered. Today, on Memorial Day, we remember those who have died so that we might sit around this table.”

An ache rose in Rakmen's chest. The familiar, weighty feel of the dead enveloped him. His lungs grew leaden, but a chorus of amens broke through the dark edges at his vision. The boys beside him dropped hands like they were on fire.

The mothers began to pass plates of steaming tamales, extra bowls of chili sauce, platters of steak, and salad, and in the flurry, Rakmen began to breathe again. As he piled his plate, he caught Molly looking at him.

She gave him a sad smile and tucked her head so that a wave of hair hid her scar. He knew she'd felt them too, the dead ones. He scanned the faces around the table. They were a mashed-up, weird kind of almost-family. Just not the one he wanted.

“How's the job search going, Rakmen?” Jacey's dad asked.

He shrugged. “Cross your fingers I don't end up at Starbucks.”

Molly laughed. “You'd make a cute barista.”

“I've got some other options,” said Rakmen, trying to catch Ray's eye.

His dad asked for the tamales. His mom passed the tray without looking at him. The twins' mom served her sons unwanted piles of salad, which they picked at. Jacey fidgeted with her spoon until her mother took it away.

“So Molly,” his mom began, trying to fill in the empty spaces, “are you still playing soccer?”

Molly's forehead creased, puckering her scar. Soccer was before the accident. This was now. Her father answered for her. “Not this season. The sport's getting too rough. And we can't risk another concussion.”

Methodically, Molly cut her steak in tiny bits.

She'd played defense, Rakmen knew, and she'd been good.

“How are things at the store?” his dad asked Ray.

“Fine. Can you pass the salt?”

A phone erupted into a series of chimes. The twins' mom checked her messages, shot dagger eyes at her sons, then stared again at the screen of her phone like it was a rattlesnake.

Silent alarm bells were going off all over. Rakmen elbowed D'Mareay. Molly nudged D'Vareay. The brothers grew instantly cagey. Their mother rose to her feet, quelling all talk at the table. The boys set down their utensils and braced for it.

“Boys!” she boomed, holding out the phone. “What in God's name is this?” Every eye in the room was fixed on the screen as the boys' mom set it in the middle of the table with dangerous precision. Like the insistent gravity of a black hole, it tugged them forward. Rakmen rose so he could look down at the screen.

The picture of the Alberta Street overpass on Interstate 5 had been snapped from a moving car. He could see the edge of the windshield in the corner of the frame. The concrete wall of the overpass filled the rest of the phone. Every inch was a riot of Technicolor spray paint—a birthday message to D'Shawn.

Rakmen recognized the boys' signature style instantly.

“It's beautiful,” said Molly. Both boys flashed her a rare grin.

“Shut up,” their mom snapped. She grabbed D'Vareay, who had the bad luck to be closest, and hoisted him out of his seat. Then she proceeded to nab D'Mareay. “Say thank you for dinner,” she commanded, retrieving the phone.

“Thanks,” they mumbled.

Rakmen half expected her to clap the boys in cuffs, and he stifled the urge to tell them to run for it.

“Tricia,” said Rakmen's mom, “don't leave.”

She turned stiffly in the doorway. “We really appreciate being included, but I really must take my hoodlums home.”

“I know that's bad behavior...” His mom faltered underneath a withering glare. “Really bad, but it's good that they're expressing themselves. Grieving people need to talk.” Rakmen's mom shot a pointed look at his dad, who rose and left the table without a word.

Tricia propelled the boys through the front door. It slammed shut behind them and broke the hush in the room. Suddenly everyone was in a hurry to go.

“Come on, Molly,” said her mom, bustling toward the door.

Mrs. Tatlas pulled Jacey out of her chair. “Us too, sweetie.”

“I'm not done!” the girl wailed. Her dad picked her up and headed for the front hall. Rakmen's mom trailed them out, stammering assurances that they didn't have to leave. Everyone said
good-bye
and
thanks
and
wasn't this nice
and
see you again soon
. They said the things they were supposed to say.

Rakmen caught up with Ray as he was shrugging into his coat. “Hey, school's out in two weeks.”

“Yeah? Good. You must be psyched.”

“I'll be ready to go to work right away. I don't need any time off or anything.”

Ray avoided his eyes. “About that...”

Rakmen shoved his hands into his pockets and wrapped the tattered notebook in a stranglehold. This morning, he'd scribbled headlines.
Contaminated mud from Willamette River superfund site shifting into main channel. Unexploded WWII ordnance unearthed by children in McMinnville.
“Look, man, I'm sorry,” said Ray, rubbing his temples. “Things aren't so good at the store.”

Rakmen's limbs felt impossibly heavy. “But you said it was fine. The junkyard is always busy.”

His mom came up beside them. “What's going on, Ray?”

“One of my guys at the junkyard got hurt on the job. He's got some ambulance chaser suing me.”

“But I need that job,” said Rakmen, more loudly than he meant to. Jacey's family stopped halfway out of the door.

Ray held up his hands and shrugged. “I know it sucks. I'm sorry, but I can't afford to hire you.”

Rakmen pressed his fists against his thighs to keep them from bashing holes in the walls.

“Thanks for dinner, Mercedes,” said Ray before escaping past the Tatlases. The family congealed around Jacey, who was having some kind of shoe malfunction.

His mother turned from the door, looking stunned. “What are you going to do all summer?”

“I don't know,” said Rakmen, his voice acid. “Sit around and listen to you and Dad fight, I guess.”

“Rakmen—” his mom warned.

“Assuming you ever stay in the same room together for longer than two seconds.”

Her whole body tensed, and her face went rigid. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and pinched like the words were extracted against her will. “This isn't about your dad and me. You need to stay out of trouble.”

“Well, I can't!” he snarled, throwing up his arms. She flinched, and he knew that he was an asshole. The sick feeling in his gut rose into his throat. “Look—” he said, flat and cold. “There's no point trying to make things like they were.”

They stared at each other. Different planets a million miles apart.

“Hey, you two,” said Mrs. Tatlas, putting a hand on his mom's arm. “It's not my business, I know, but can I throw a crazy idea out there?”

Rakmen and his mom broke their stare-down.

“Sure, Leah,” said his mom, regaining her composure. “He probably needs summer school, right?”

Rakmen's eyes narrowed.

His teacher shook her head. “He did okay on that last assignment. If he keeps it up, he'll be fine.” The tension in his mother eased a sliver. “So here's the deal. I need a change of scenery.” Rakmen's hackles rose, remembering what Jacey had said about her mom wanting to take off. “Jacey and I are going to spend July and August up at my Uncle Leroy's cabin in Canada. It's on a lake in the woods. It'll be nice.”

La-ti-da for you, thought Rakmen. Suddenly, Jacey was pressing against his side like a dog wanting its head scratched. He stepped away, but she glommed on, sliding her hand into his.