Everybody: Thank you! I really appreciate the time you all take to send me a few kind words… and I'm glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter… I hope you continue to enjoy – and yes, truly, Sands and Beth will be back together by the end… she's his angel – he's just doing the 'glass is half empty' routine right now… (it'll get worse before it gets better…)
Chapter Eighteen:
Not Even Good-bye
Spencer and I head downstairs so Emma can finish her packing – and change out of that 'dress' into something a little more fit for a snowy November afternoon. As soon as I hit the steps, I hear the voices – El Senor Hubby and my sister – and it sounds heated. Remember your promise… nothing drastic… and I have the feeling Milo would insist that I use his definition of drastic… he can be such a killjoy.
Sounds like they're in the kitchen – and as I creep down the steps, I become aware of other voices – much quieter ones – speaking Spanish in the living room. I pick out three voices – an older male, an older female and a male probably around my age – I stop to eavesdrop for a few seconds at the base of the steps (well out of view). Mama and Papa DeSantis and…Roscoe's brother…? That's my best guess, anyway. And it seems as if Al wasn't exaggerating about just how much they like her. I think Holly might have had something to say regarding Karma about now… all I really know is that I don't feel one iota of sympathy for my sister and her in-law troubles, not after the way she treated my – my daughter.
Christ… what I wouldn't do to know what Emma's thinking… I mean really thinking. This has got to be messing with her head (it sure is messing with mine.)
After a few moments, I head towards the kitchen; the terse words flying between my sister and the husband seem to be growing louder. I'm not honestly even paying much attention to the content of the argument, the tone in their voices is enough to tell me that it's getting pretty ugly.
"Well, kiddies, I have good news and I have bad news," I announce at the kitchen door.
Roscoe stops mid sentence – I'm sure they're both glaring at me.
I favour the pair of them with one of my charming little half smiles. "The bad news is that I promised someone I wouldn't do anything that involved you or your relatives and a bullet," I nod in Roscoe's direction. "Although if your mother calls my baby sister a – how did that go again? – oh, yes, yes, I remember now, a 'white trash American whore' one more time – I might be hard pressed to keep that promise – hmmm. You know – it suddenly occurs to me that you might consider the fact that I'm not going to shoot you or yours the good news." I light my last cigarette.
"I warned you once –" the husband begins.
"Oh – right – my bad," even with a headache coming into full swing, I'm still managing to have way too much fun with him… I know, I know, I promised Milo I wouldn't do anything drastic, but if I don't blow off some steam, I honestly might have to shoot someone before he gets here. I pull out my ID – once again, in such a way that Mr. Police Ossifer over there would have to be more sight impaired than I am not to see the gun under my jacket. "Sorry, Roscoe – CIA trumps local fuzz every time," I flash my badge along with my very best cat-that-ate-the canary smile. "Your darling wife will tell you that I'm for real."
"What the – ?" his tone is one of utter disbelief.
"He's not kidding, Tom," Alison's tone on the other hand is quite subdued. I'm not sure if she's just exhausted from our earlier repartee – or if perhaps I've struck a nerve by relaying some of Mom and Pop DeSantis' private tittle-tattle.
"I don't – " Roscoe is probably standing over there slack-jawed.
"He's not kidding. His last posting was in Mexico."
So in other words, she knows I'm not shitting about what his mother was saying about her – and he knows she knows I'm not shitting… I love holidays, don't you?
I pocket my ID – and ash on the floor – I can practically hear Roscoe's blood pressure rising. I ignore him and 'face' my sister. "I'm going to need a couple of things before I go."
"Um – you said you had 'good' news?" Alison prompts me – she sounds – almost a little afraid? Well – yeah, I guess having me in a good mood is almost as bad as having me in a bad mood…
"Oh right – Emma's coming home with me. Which leads me to –"
"You can't be serious, Sheldon."
"Why not? You're the one who laid out my options. Now about –"
"I laid out your options so you'd realize I was right," Alison interrupts me again. "You –"
"You intimated that it might be for the best if I took her," I interrupt her – this is getting annoying.
"That was – before our – discussion. I – was wrong – going with you – would be a mistake."
I just smirk – what she means to say was that she thought Emma going with was a good idea before she remembered just what prick I really am. She probably thinks a state home would be far safer for the kid than any home I could possibly provide. Which may be true – but it doesn't alter the fact that I will not sign my daughter over to anyone. "Well, seeing as I am her father – it really isn't your decision to make, now is it, Ally? Now – for the last time – I need you to do a couple of things for me before I go."
"What sort of things?" Roscoe again.
"Buddy – when I want something from you, I'll be sure to let you know."
"Listen here –"
"Tom, please," Alison interjects. "Why don't you just go – talk to your parents. Or check on the girls."
"The girls are fine," he tells her in a low, angry tone. But I listen as he removes himself from the room, pausing as he passes me.
I turn my head in his direction, giving him the illusion of being stared down – "Don't get fresh, Sweetcakes," I warn him in flawless Spanish, in a tone that leaves little room for doubt that I am dead serious: "Lata - y voluntad, sin la vacilación - le puse en un agujero tan profundamente que presionarían al Diablo mismo difícilmente encontrar su descomposición, apestando caparazón." Well – Sweetcakes doesn't quite translate – but I'm sure he gets the idea. (Oh, you'd like to know what I said too? Simply that if he gets any particularly stupid ideas about my person, I would put him in a hole so deep that even the Devil himself wouldn't be able to find his rotting, stinking corpse. Needless to say, I think I've made my point.)
After the husband makes his final (hasty) egress, I turn my head back towards Alison and resume in English. "Charming man, absolutely charming. Does he have a sister? Maybe we can double date sometime."
"What do you want from me, Sheldon?"
(Is that defeat I hear in my sister's voice? How interesting… but I'm really past caring – because I really don't know my sister half as well as I thought I did and while that thought is disturbing, I really have more important things to worry about, right this very moment.) "I need you to write down the number of Emma's school for me – don't worry, I'm sure she can read it even if I can't," I say before she has the chance to remind me that I can't see. "I'd also like to get the name and number of this lawyer who dropped her off – and everything else he left with you."
"You're really going to do this?"
"Someone has to."
"Shel – please try to understand – I'm not trying to be the bad guy – but – we've only been married for a few years – we've got two small children – they were both difficult pregnancies – and you heard yourself – his family hates me."
"I'd cry you a river – but I'm not real sure I can do that any more either," I tell her with quite a big more rancor than I'm actually feeling – because – because I have simply stopped caring quite so much... She actually thought I would just sign Emma over to some state run home… Me – the guy who took care of her, run out on my own kid… I may not like the situation, but… but what choice do I really have? "Oh – and some while back, you said you had some stuff for me – from Mom," I say to her, ever so sweetly. "I'll take that now, too if it's not too much trouble."
"Are – you sure – I mean – it's mostly old photos – a few knick knacks – most of it's stuff you probably don't even want any more."
"You can either go find it for me now, or I'll come back in the morning. Your choice."
"It'll take me – a few minutes," she gives in with some reluctance.
"Take your time – hey look on the bright side, at least I'm not staying for dinner."
"Tell me – do you really still work for the CIA?"
"At least until Monday – who knows, maybe they'll let me keep my job, what do you think?"
"I think – I think I would prefer it if I never saw you again."
"That's kinda what I had in mind."
I listen to her footsteps as she leaves the room by another door – it could just be more convenient to wherever she's got the items I requested – but my real guess is she doesn't want to be anywhere near me right now.
Smiling to myself, I wander back upstairs to Emma's room – although I manage to resist the urge to poke my head into the living room and say hola to la familia. Heh.
"Knock, knock," I announce at her door – I mean, I know I can't see – but I would still feel pretty awkward walking into my kid's room if she wasn't dressed yet…
"One of the cats is still on the loose," she warns me.
I step in, once again bidding Spencer to stay outside. "How's the packing coming, otherwise?" I ask; I am quite anxious to get the Hell out of this house.
"Almost done – I – don't really have much."
Yeah. We'll talk about that later… for now, "How big is that bird cage of yours?" Although Milo did say his beau drove a truck…
"Three feet by three feet by two feet wide – it collapses, though – I've already got it broken down."
"And Mr. Bird travels in what?"
"He has a smaller cage for carrying, don't worry."
"Just checking."
I'm sure she's shaking her head at me – I wonder if Holly told her how much of a Nature lover I just am not. "So – um – " what now?
"You don't have to do this, you know," she tells me. Her tone is… hmmm… yeah. Right.
"Yes I do," I move slowly and carefully across her room towards the bed – I stop briefly as I hear Emma drag something out from in front of me. "Thanks." I park my ass on her bed – there's a big duffle bag sitting in the spot she occupied earlier. I listen as she moves around the room, pulling things from drawers and tossing them into the bag… I wonder if her wardrobe is really as bad as Alison suggested… but – I did say I wouldn't tell her how to dress. She's her own person… and I realize she's standing in front of me. I turn my head in her direction.
"How – how long ago did you – lose your sight?" her tone is uncertain.
"November Second," I keep my voice gently neutral. She doesn't need to know… how bad it really is.
"Shit – that's less than a month ago –"
"Look – I realize I'm not the world's best example – but –"
"But I should at least pretend to be a lady?" She asks – I think there's just a little bit of a smile in her voice. "That's what – what Mom used to say to me."
I hear her voice catch when she mentions Holly... "Em – I – I wish I had been there, I really do – " I reach out for her – and I'm a little surprised when she puts her hand into mine. She's soft – warm. Rings on most of her fingers – and her thumb – and – leather fingerless gloves… I wonder what the rest of the outfit is…
Emma sits down next to me, close enough that her legs are touching mine – jeans, I think… and she hasn't let go of my hand, either. I place my other hand over hers, feeling more than a little out of my depth here. I really am no good at this. All I really have to fall back on is – is how good it felt when Beth was there for me… in the dark. My angel…
"It really wouldn't have – changed anything if you'd come," Emma says softly. "She would still have died – you know the funny thing? Most people with lupus live pretty normal, long, happy lives. There are just a few – extreme cases. Mom never could do anything by halves," she laughs, just a little.
"No – no she really couldn't," I agree. And then a rather dark little thought crosses my brain… "Have you been – checked out –?" because one of the few things I know is that lupus is very possibly hereditary… and why does that thought really frighten me, right down to the soles of my boots…
"I'm fine. Mom freaked when I got mono a couple years ago – but – it was just mono."
"You're sure?"
"She made them run the test on me twice."
I just nod – I'm pretty sure I can have faith that Holly would have wanted to make sure Em was ok.
I feel the bed move – something (a cat, I hope) has just jumped onto it. The thing rubs its face on my leg. It's white – it's big and fluffy and white, I just know it… it is leaving a trail of white fur all over my pants… my entire wardrobe is going to be covered in long white cat hairs. I'll be the other one is black – and just as big and fluffy – and I'll bet it likes to rub all over white shirts. I'll be they're going to divvy up my closet accordingly… cats are sneaky little buggers. Holly had a cat – I can't remember what she called it – but it made a habit of pissing in my shoes. I don't like cats.
Emma lifts the feline away from me, "You, Mister, are a little sneak," she says to it.
"So – um – what kind of cat is it?" I check my other pocket – but no, I only brought one pack of smokes. Damn.
"Feel."
Oh great – I have to pet it too? I mean – Spencer is one thing – he serves a purpose in my life. But – cats? What use are cats? They pee in your shoes, get fur all over everything – they plot against you in your sleep, evil, conniving little plots… they're sneaky. Hmmm…. Anyway…. I guess I'm going to be living with it, so I might as well try to make nice with the kitty. "Does it have a name?" I ask, reaching a hand in Emma's direction.
"Of course he has a name," she tells me, "This is Iggy – as in Pop – his brother is Bela – you know Bela Lugosi."
Ok – I can dig that. My hand comes to rest on… "Um – Emma – I think there's something wrong with it."
Her laughter is – utterly maniacal. "He'ssupposed to feel that way."
I run my hand over smooth, soft skin – no maybe not quite skin – suede? Warm suede. "Are you sure someone didn't slip some Nair into its shampoo?" I feel as if I've been set up… by my own kid. I mean – she knew I couldn't see the thing… but… my Christ, this is the strangest thing I've ever felt… (oh, and it's purring…so I guess it likes me… how ducky. I'm still going to hide my shoes.)
And my darling offspring is still giggling at me, "They're hairless. Well – mostly hairless – Iggy has a little peach fuzz on his head and ears – Bela has some on his tail and feet as well as head and ears. Bela's dark grey, with Siamese like markings on his face, legs and tail – Iggy's white. They're both declawed."
See, I knew it… but I suppose that since they're not big and fluffy, I'm not going to have to worry about my wardrobe… "Interesting," I really don't know what else to say. I've never heard of a fucking hairless cat before – I mean – what's the point? I know – living in Mexico for three fucking years I did become acquainted with the whole hairless dog thing – but I'm not saying I think that makes any sense either. Frida Kahlo can keep them – and I've gotta tell you, one thing I'm not going to miss is that lady's weird ass paintings. I've read her biography – I get it – but man, talk about twisted… and that, ladies and gentlemen, is coming from me.
"You're not crazy about pets, are you?" Emma asks.
"Never had any. Growing up we moved around too much – and – well – in my line of work, I never really know where I'm going to be from one month to the next."
"What do you do – really?"
I listen as she settles Iggy into the carrier with his brother. Neither feline seems entirely happy about the arrangement – I can sympathize. I've never cared much for small cells either… but at least their incarceration won't last long…
And I have to think about her question for a moment before being able to answer. I don't think I'm going to tell Emma what I told – whatever his name was – the President's right hand man – about my area of expertise (although I think it's a pretty good analogy if I do say so myself – political enemas.) "It's a little – involved – but – I guess you could say I – keep things balanced out. I watch all the players – keep tabs on all the little factions running around – and make sure that nobody gets too big for their own good."
"So what happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said there was an 'incident' – that led to – the dog and cane. What happened?"
"Well – that's kind of a long story. As of Monday I may not be working for the CIA any more, we'll have to see – but not to worry, I've already got a new job lined up," I can't help the smirk that crosses my face… I just think it's too damned funny that I'm working for the Department of Justice. I mean – me – working with the white-hats. I fish out the DOJ ID for her.
"I'm beginning to see what everyone means about you being complicated. Can I – ask something – I mean – I know it's none of my business but – I was just – wondering – ?"
"They say there's no harm in asking," I try to sound nonchalant. I really don't like her tone – I just can't imagine what she could want to ask me that's got her so – pensive.
"I – don't care – I'm just – curious. I mean – it's just one of those things I'd like to know – since – I guess I'm coming to live with you and everything – and – I just – I don't even know if you care that I really don't care –"
"Ok – when someone starts out with that much of a preface to a question, I get a little jumpy, there kiddo. How about just cutting to the chase?"
"Sorry. I just – that guy you called – you called him – Sugar butt?"
I can't quite help the chuckle – yeah, I suppose that would lend itself to all sorts of strange assumptions. "Milo and I trained together – at Langley – and – he's probably the closest thing I have to a real friend. As for your question – or at least what I'm pretty sure it is you're trying to ask – he is, I'm not. It's never had any bearing on our working relationship."
"Langley?"
"Langley, Virginia – CIA headquarters."
"So – he's – he does what you do?"
I just smile some more, "It's ok to say the word 'spy' – guys in ski masks won't come crashing in the window or anything."
"Is it anything like the movies?"
"No." No – because in the movies, the actors get up at the end of the scene – they wash off the make up and fake blood and everyone goes home that much richer… in real life… in real life you have to live with what you've done… what's been done to you.
"Sorry," she says – I guess she realizes she hit a nerve.
I give her hand a gentle squeeze, "Don't sweat it."
"How come – how come you said you never – expected me to be – any part of your life?"
Damn. Talk about your hard questions. "I – I'm not really a nice guy, Em." I guess there's no point in sugar coating it. She's a big girl.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean – I mean – I'm just not a nice guy. I'm not – a good person. I never have been." Fuck – I don't want to tell her how many people I've killed – just how much blood is on those hands she's holding onto… I have no regrets – but I don't want to throw that kind of shit in my daughter's face, either.
"Mom said that – when – when she told you about me – you – never tried to say I wasn't yours. You never – said – any of the things she expected you to. You didn't even ask for a blood test to prove it. She said you were angry at her – but – that you never said I wasn't yours."
"Your mother never lied to me about anything so – so I guess I just knew that she wouldn't lie about something as – important as you. I was only angry that it took her four years to get around to telling me you existed."
"How come?"
"My old man ran out on us – when I was a kid – and – I never wanted to be him."
"But – you really didn't want anything to do with us, either."
Ouch. "Not for the reasons you're probably thinking, Emma."
"Did you love her?"
"I think I did. But – it was a long – long time ago. A lot has changed since then." A Hell of a lot… "You wanna double check – make sure you've got everything you want from here?" I say, by way of changing the subject, "Because – once we're gone, we're not coming back." Damn I need a cigarette…
By the time Emma has double-checked the room, Milo arrives… and it takes us only takes four trips to get all of Emma's worldly possessions and the two boxes Alison left for me by the front door loaded into the back of the SUV.
I wonder if Alison is watching, as Milo pulls out of her driveway; I haven't said one word to her since our conversation in her kitchen. There just doesn't seem to be anything to say... not even good-bye.
And I wonder what Emma is thinking… because she seems to have gone all quiet on me…
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I'm standing on the bridge
I'm waiting in the dark
I thought that you'd be here by now
There's nothing but the rain
No footsteps on the ground
I'm listening but there's no sound
Isn't anyone tryin' to find me?
Won't somebody come take me home?
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won't you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you...mmm
I'm looking for a place
I'm searching for a face
Is anybody here I know?
'Cause nothing's going right
And everything's a mess
And no one likes to be alone
Isn't anyone tryin' to find me?
Won't somebody come take me home?
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won't you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you...yeah yeah oh
Why is everything so confusing
Maybe I'm just out of my mind
Yeah yeah yeah...yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won't you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you...
Take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
Take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
I'm with you...
- Avril Lavigne -