Broken Identity (2 page)

Drake was tense as he walked to his last class the next morning. Something about the words “test results” made his mind go into overload and fear the worst—another year of high school. He had a lot on the line and wasn’t sure yet if he could handle seeing anything lower than a D on his paper.

Drake found his seat near the back and sat down, hands jittery and ankles crossed so no one would see them shake. It felt as if this room were ten degrees hotter than any of the others as the teacher reached for the papers on his desk and began passing them out, starting with the front and ending in the back. Drake tapped his fingers nervously against his desk as the teacher approached him and laid down his exam.

Drake slowly lowered his stiff neck until his eyes fell on the page below him. His mouth nearly fell open.

A beautiful, scrawled C-. The breath rushed from his lungs as his entire body trembled with relief.
I passed. I can’t believe it. I really passed.

“Is that you, Drake?” a voice hollered from the bathroom.

“No, it’s a robber!” Drake shouted back, letting the screen door bang shut behind him.
Idiot.
“Who do ya think it is?”

His dad, Ben, staggered into the room with his typical attire of worn, blue-jean shorts and a seafood restaurant tee. The smell of alcohol lingered in his breath.

Drake parked himself on the tattered, blue couch in the living room and glared with repulsion at his father. “You never came home last night.”

Ben sat down hard on the other end of the couch and rubbed his head.

“You gonna answer me? I just spoke to you.”

“Go away,” Ben slurred. He moaned at the sudden throbbing that rushed to his head.

Glad to see you too,
Drake thought. “You spent your entire check on booze and joints again, didn’t you?”

Ben rolled his eyes. Why so much talking? He didn’t ask for a conversation. “Whadda you care how I spend my money?”

Drake slapped himself on the knee. “Gah, I knew it! Dad, we need groceries! There’s no more food in the house, and…”

“I don’t need no food,” Ben said tersely, scratching the line of poison ivy embedded on his bulging arm. “I need a high, that’s all I need. Sump’n to take the edge off every now and then.” His eyes were red and vacant as they stared straight ahead at no particular thing.

“Well, it’s gonna kill ya someday, and frankly, I don’t care. If you wanna die, sure, fine, that’s your business. Wonderful. But there’s another member of this house who actually likes to eat. So how much money you got left?”

Ben fanned his shirt and shook his head. “As if you don’t enjoy a little alcohol every now and then. Gimme a break.”

“Oh, oh, OK, I see. Takin’ shots at me now, cause you’re so…so…well, why do ya think I drink? To be like you?”

“I really don’t care.”

“Well, I’ll tell ya why. So I can forget what kind of a life I’m living here, that’s why! That makes perfect sense. Least I have a reason.”

“Always an excuse, isn’t there?”

“’Sides, I can control it,” Drake flared back, ignoring his question. “You don’t see beer running my life. Or
ruining
it, for that matter.”

Ben belted out a long, grating laugh. The salmon on his shirt rippled with every mocking chuckle. “I’ve heard that one before! Yeah, you control it all right. Enough to keep you up half the night over the toilet barfing your guts up!”

Drake pursed his lips tightly. “Whatever,” he mumbled. “Just answer my question. How much cash did you save for food?”

Ben pulled out his wallet and revealed a five and two one-dollar bills.

“You disgust me,” Drake said coldly, shaking his head. “Guess you didn’t think to pick up the medicine for my allergies either, did ya?”

“At those prices? Even the off-brands are through the roof.”

“Then sacrifice a pack of cigarettes this week and there you go. Man, your priorities are so outta whack.”

Ben glared at him. “Watch your mouth. We may not see eye to eye—”

“You got that part right,” Drake said, just as bold.

“—but I’m still your father, and you have to respect me.”

Now Drake was laughing. “Respect
you?
I wouldn’t even know where to start! How do you respect someone who wastes his life away on drugs and walks around like a zombie all the time? I’m sorry and maybe that’s just me, but I don’t respect that. I’m ashamed of it.”

Ben stood brusquely. “Now you listen here—”

“No,
you
listen, Dad! I’m tired of coming back from school every day wonderin’ if you’re either passed out on the couch, over at your stupid,
married
girlfriend’s house, or dead.”

Ben exhaled slowly. “Dead?”

“You’re puttin’ way too much stuff in your body—more drugs than I care to count—and I can’t help but wonder if today’ll be the day you just keel over and die. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. The worrying never stops, and I don’t think it ever will stop until you stop your addictions first!”

“Oh, listen to the pot calling the kettle black! You smoke too, but you never hear me houndin’ you ’bout that!”

“You’re the one who got me addicted! But least I got sense enough to know eating’s more important! You still haven’t figured that out yet.” Drake stood and paced to the other end of the room to keep from looking at his father.

Ben followed him. “Oh, so smoking’s different for you? It’s called being weak, Drake. Face it.”

Drake whirled. “Yeah, and I guess I inherited it from you.”

“I can do whatever I want to with my life, so stay out of it!”

“You sound like a child. Fine. You say stay outta mine, I’ll stay outta yours. Drink yourself to death. See if I care. But before you do every weekend, remind yourself to at least leave more than seven dollars for your son so he can buy himself some food. Unlike yours, my body can’t survive on just drugs.”

“Sell your truck. It’s what I’ve told you all along.”

“I need it.”

“Learn to hitchhike! You want money, there it is.”

“I’m not sellin’ it.”

“Then quit whining! You’re just as able as I am to get your lazy self out of bed in the morning and work.”

“Oh, and I look forward to it,” Drake seethed. “I’m gonna find me a job somewhere so I can make my own money and leave this dump for good. It’s time I leave your Stone Age and start livin’ like everybody else.”

“Like everybody else?” his dad repeated, letting out another throaty laugh. “You really think that a no-account like you can ever climb up the ladder and be like everybody else? Have you looked in the mirror, Drake? You ain’t goin’ nowhere—not because I ain’t lettin’ ya, but because you can’t raise enough money to leave. You’re trash, just like me. Everyone knows it. You’re branded with my name and you’re stuck with it for life. Nothing good’s ever happened to the Pearsons and it sure ain’t gonna start with you.”

Drake stared into the distance. “I’ll show you. Tomorrow, I’m coming back with a job, and then you’ll wish you hadn’t said anything after seeing my first paycheck.”

His dad cackled louder, “We’ll see.”

Chapter

2

U
NANSWERED
Q
UESTIONS

Andrew Tavner felt a soothing sense of peace as he stepped into the courtroom and took his seat. His chest felt warm inside. Fear was still knocking with questions, but overall it just felt right this time. No more angry letters or court dates or lingering phone calls after this. It would all end today.

Andrew’s brother hadn’t arrived yet, which was annoyingly typical of him, but perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. Just the sight of his brother sent enraged thoughts swarming through his mind, and he regularly found himself asking God for forgiveness for it later.
Not today. Today will be different. It has to be. I have enough gray hairs as it is.

Andrew straightened his silk garnet tie and peeked up at the clock on the wall to check the time once more. He was a little early if the clock was right, so he spent most of his time praying or studying the military ring on his finger as he waited. There wasn’t much to look at—just the same, mind-numbing courtroom he had seen one too many times before—and the combined smells of old papers and lemon furniture polish attacked his senses, quickly giving him a headache.

A hand lightly patted his back. “How you feelin’ today?” Joe Calbert, his attorney, said as he took a seat beside him. He dropped his heavy briefcase on the polished, hickory table in front of him and glanced at the clock.

“Surprisingly, a little more calm than last time,” Andrew said, managing a weak smile. “You did a good job. I really believe we’ve finally won this thing.”

Joe nodded his head and exhaled slowly. “Let’s hope so. The judge’ll be out in a moment to decide that, but personally…” He smiled back at Andrew and said, “I think you’re right. You’ll make a good father to that boy.”

Father. No, he could never replace that figure in Ronnie’s life. That definition wouldn’t work. It represented abuse, not love, so he would just keep it at “uncle” unless Ronnie ever wanted to change it.

Kevin Tavner, Andrew’s brother, finally arrived at ten minutes before eleven o’clock. What a sight. No tie, half-ironed slacks that barely matched his button-up, and speed-combed hair. Andrew shook his head. Was this nothing more than a game to him? He glanced at Joe, who said with his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

Kevin purposefully snubbed his brother’s presence. He jerked his seat back, ignoring the grating shrill it brought as it scraped the floor. Along with his sweat-matted, black hair and livid eyes, his face was a splotchy, blood red. Andrew knew what that meant and didn’t care to think about it. He was just relieved that Ronnie was now safely out of Kevin’s reach, especially on a day like today. If Kevin ever dared to touch that kid again, Andrew would handle him himself—this time without the help of a judge.

Kevin’s wife entered next, smearing away her thick, caked-on makeup as she wiped her eyes with a tissue. Her mascara spread in streaks under her eyes like the windswept grass that forced itself through the cracks of Andrew’s front porch. But Andrew felt no compassion for her. She was just as much part of this as her husband was; and since neither of them had taken proper care of their own son, he found it his duty—and his privilege—to assume responsibility of the boy.

Andrew barely shifted his eyes to look over at his brother discussing something with his attorney. He closed his eyes, praying, hoping that today would be the last time he ever had to come back to this nightmare of a place.

Saturday morning brought on a rush of emotions. Scared, sure. Nervous, maybe. Excited…yes, definitely excited. More excited than he had ever remembered feeling.

Drake Pearson found the best clothes he owned and smoothed them out over his bed. Still wrinkled, but good grief, it wasn’t like he was applying for manager at a restaurant or something. A simple job of flipping burgers or bagging groceries was as far as he expected to get.

He had already figured out on his calculator last night how much cash he would need to save each week before he would finally have enough to ditch this house and start his own life. The figures were disappointing, but the gamble of living on the street for a while didn’t seem so bad. People did it all the time and came out OK, depending on how hard they tried. At least, that was his analysis. No matter what the cost, he would find a way. Whatever it took to get away from his old man would be worth it in the long run.