Lennon's Jinx (16 page)

“You
have no idea what you’re talking about. I won’t let Currie experience what I’ve
been through, and you’re right. It’s none of your business.”

I
open the door and notice the Guild resting against the coat closet. That’s odd.

Lennon
peeks inside while handing me the garment bags. “If you ever want to sell that
Guild, I’ll give you four grand for it. It’s a beautiful guitar.”

“That
was random.” Four thousand is a lot of
mula
. “I can’t. The guitars are
all I have left of my dad.” I don’t think Lennon’s saying this to hurt me. He
really likes that guitar, which explains him playing it out of all the other
ones. “Oh, thanks for the roses. It was a nice gesture.”

I
turn around and walk inside, not waiting for his reply.

I
don’t get Lennon. He whores around with anything in a skirt yet stands up and
takes care of these little girls. But he needs to ease up. Currie obviously
loves her dad. It can’t be easy for either of them.

Lennon
drives off. I almost admire him. Almost.

When
I put the Guild back, my mind clicks into place on the obvious. Oh no, did
Step-monster find my stash?

 I
rush to my bedroom to check my Takamine.

Step-monster
stands inside my room, holding my weed. I swallow hard and step out of my room.
I run down the hall and back out the front door, speed-dialing Rena. I’m
trembling hard while fighting back tears.

I’m
half-way down the block with the dress bags folded over my arms when
Step-monster calls out the door, “Wait until your Mom gets home.”

After dropping off Jinx and Zoe,
I pull into the garage. Once again, the Dodge Charger blocks part of the
driveway, but I’m able to go around it to park inside the garage. Currie is
asleep in the back of the SUV. Car rides always put her out.

I
want Jinx to think differently of me, but I don’t want to change myself for any
girl. She actually has a sense of humor, even though most of the day was rough on
her. I didn’t particularly like her butting into my business concerning
Jonathan, though I’m going to have to address him sometime. Jinx doesn’t
understand what Currie and I have been through.

My
phone buzzes in my pocket again. It’s been going off all day. Jonathan left one
voicemail, two from the Humane Society that I delete, and Bailey has left
several texts on my phone. Her anger has faded. Once every six months we go
through this.

Bailey
wants me to meet her tonight and promises to show me a good time. I’m sure she
will, but she needs a real boyfriend, not me. It’s not like I haven’t told her
that she’s nothing more than a friend, a really good friend that is.

Her
last text mentions Jinx. Bailey’s jealous. She wants me to assure her that I’m
not going out with Jinx. I don’t bother to respond.

I
leave Currie sleeping in the closed garage until I get her packages out of the
car. I open the door that leads into the kitchen. A crash comes from one of the
bedrooms.

“Harry,”
I whisper.

The
dog cowers behind the couch. He whimpers but doesn’t come out of his cave.

Dammit.
I put the bags down and hurry back out to the SUV. I unlock the Glock from the
glove box and secure the SUV before going back into the house.

Groaning,
crying, and the sounds of struggling escape into the hall from Mom’s bedroom. I
ease down the hallway with my finger on the trigger and the safety off.

The
door is slightly ajar. I nudge it open. The lamp is knocked off the dresser,
and the bedspread lies in a heap on the floor. A kitchen knife rests on the end
table. I ease around the corner of the bed.

My
mother kneels on the floor while a guy leans over her. Her skirt is hitched up,
and her blouse is torn. No kid should have to see his mother this way. It’s not
the first time though. Except she’s bawling and the gag in her mouth prevents
her cries of help from escaping.

Muscles
bulge from this guy’s biceps. I’m sure he pumps iron for fun. I creep over and
press the muzzle to his temple.

“Get
up slowly,” I say.

The
guy swivels his head so that he can see me. “Who the hell are you?”

“I
own this house. We spoke this morning when your car blocked my driveway. You
are going to leave now. Unless my mother wants to press charges, in which case,
you can wait until the police arrive.”

He
rises slowly. “You won’t shoot me. You don’t have the guts.”

I
squeeze the trigger and shoot the end table. The explosion splinters the wood
and sends the guy reeling and toppling over Mom onto the floor.

“Don’t
shoot,” he screams.

“What
do you want to do, Mom?”

She
gets up, not bothering to cover herself, and yanks the cloth out of her mouth. She
reaches for the kitchen knife.

“Heather,
not a good idea,” I say.

The
guy puts up his hands. “No.”

“I’m
not going to kill him,” she says in a calm voice. Before I can stop her, she
slices the guy’s face open. Blood spills onto my white Berber carpet.

That
ticks me off. I throw him his shirt, which he presses against his cheek. The
blood soaks through it.

“Heather,
get his license out.”

She
takes it out of his billfold then tosses his jeans at him.

“Leave,”
I say.

“This
isn’t the end of this,” he says.

I
pull out my cell, take a few mug shots, and stuff it back into my pocket. “If I
see you or your car anywhere near us again, I’ll shoot you dead.”

The
guy stands up straight and starts to tug on his jeans.

“No,
leave now.” I keep the Glock aimed at his head as he walks out in his shorts. I
follow him to the front door, step out into the cold night air, and keep the
gun trained on him until he drives away.

When
I come back inside, Heather is dressed and staring at herself in the mirror.
Her makeup is such a runny mess she resembles a clown. “Good, he didn’t mess up
my face at all.”

“That’s
all you’re worried about?” I shake my head. “That’s the last straw, Mom. What
if Currie walked into this mess?”

“She
didn’t, so chill out.”

“You
have to leave.” My voice is oddly calm. It’s probably because I’m so sick of
this. Unless I stop it now, it’ll never end.

Her
hands shoot straight out. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“I
don’t care. You’ve put Currie and me at risk one too many times. I’m not going
through this anymore. If you apply for alimony in the courts, you’ll get half
what Jonathan is worth.”

“You
know I can’t do that to him.”

“He
did it to you.”

Tears
creep down her cheeks. “He’s coming back.”

“That’s
doubtful.” Jonathan’s been sober for a few years now, and he likes Heather
better when he’s trashed. “According to Currie, he’s serious about some girl
he’s been seeing since he ditched us.”

“He
will come back. He always does.” Hate for me washes across her face. “Why are
you so mean? You’re just like him.”

“Heather,
pack your things and go. I’ll give you some cash until you get yourself
settled.”

“No.
Mommy stay,” a sleepy voice calls from behind me.

Great.
Now what do I do? “Currie, go to your room.”

“I
don’t want to.” She runs to Heather and grabs her arm. “Promise Lennon you
won’t have any more bad men over. Promise.”

“Lennon,
I swear.” Mom’s eyes plead with me. She hates to be alone. This is what causes
all her problems.

“We’ve
been through this before,” I say, picking up the sheet from the floor and
throwing it on her. She needs to cover herself. I don’t like Currie growing up
the way I did.

Currie
sobs and clutches onto Heather. “Please don’t. Mommy will do better. Won’t
you?”

I
can feel my resolve weakening. “If you have anyone over, I’m calling the cops
to have him removed and you.” I stab my finger at her. “Do I make myself
clear?”

Heather
nods. “I’ll get Jonathan back. We’ll be a family again.”

“We
were never that, Heather. Ever.” I walk away and Currie follows me.

“I
called Daddy.”

“Just
great. Why?” I spin around to face her.

“He
wants to help.”

Currie
has no concept of this man. I’m glad she doesn’t, but honestly, sometimes her
obsession with him grates on me. “Jonathan doesn’t know how to help anyone,
including himself.”

Tears
well up in her big dark eyes. Now, I’ve done it.

Currie’s
cell rings
Stairway to Heaven
, so I know it’s him. She speaks to him,
nods, and takes the phone away from her ear. “Daddy wants to talk to you.”

Anger
rages inside me. “Currie, I don’t want to talk to him. Don’t you get that? I
took you shopping with your friend all day. Not everything is about you and
what you want.”

“If
we move to LA, Daddy and Denage can watch me. You can go have fun instead of
always taking care of me.”

That’s
not what I want. Currie is my family. If I could keep my stupid mouth shut. “It’s
not going to happen. Go to your room.”

Curries
sobs while talking to Jonathan. Great that’s all I need.

“Daddy
still wants to talk to you,” she says.

“What?”
I bark into the phone.

“Lennon,
please don’t hang up on me. I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I don’t
blame you, but hear me out. I want you and Currie to move out here. I want to
be more in her life and yours. Heather will leave you two eventually, and
that’ll crush Currie. Please consider it.”

“Never.”
I hang up. I can only be so lucky that Mom leaves.

Currie
pouts and tears leak from her swollen eyes.

“I
told you to go to your room.”

“You’re
not my daddy.” She runs out to the living area and curls up to Heather who acts
like nothing happened. They share a bowl of popcorn on the couch in front of
the flat screen. Currie soaks up the attention because it’s so rare.

I
shouldn’t have talked to Currie that way. I plod to my room to soak in the
shower.

Jonathan
has a lot of gall to ask us to move in with him. Just because he’s sober for a
few years doesn’t make up for a lifetime of hard partying and leaving me to
pick up the broken pieces. Currie has never seen him slip back into a coma of pills,
but I have. I don’t want to lose Currie to him or anyone. She’s all I’ve got.
Having full custody will prevent me from losing her.

I
need to release all the stress building up inside me. Bailey enters my thoughts.
I could ask her out, but then my mind works over Jinx. What is it with her? She
was skittish, and today, she leaned against me until I tried to kiss her and
then she freaked out. I have to stop thinking about Jinx that way.

And
Currie. She wants parents, and as hard as I try, I’m never enough. This throws
me into a rage. I step out of the shower and kick the stool over in the
bathroom. I tug on sweats and retreat to my room.

It’s
a huge master suite divided by French doors to my studio, containing a baby
grand, several guitars, and amps. I leave my door open at night in case Currie
has nightmares, and so I can hear her while she sleeps.

Taking
the brass key from around my neck, I unlock the wooden box from underneath my
bed. It’s a box full of memories, the few good ones I have from my childhood.

There
are photos of me holding Currie the first day she came home, ticket stubs from
when Jonathan took me to a Cubs game. He bought us hot dogs and let me sip the
foam off his beer. When we got home, Mom was furious. He followed her like a
whipped dog into the bedroom where he snorted coke for the rest of the night.

I
touch the tiny bear Jonathan won for me at Navy Pier when I was seven. The
baseball cards he saved as a boy are jammed into one corner of the box. A torn
picture of his mom lies on the bottom. I stole it from him because I knew how
much he loved it.

A
piece of coal from the mines Jonathan worked at as a child rests in another corner.
I really don’t know much about him other than the music he writes and that he
dotes on Currie. An unpublished song he wrote for her is folded into the box
along with the one I wrote in fifth grade that Rage performed.

The
strip of photos of Mei Lin and me making faces at each other stares back at me.
It’s been so long since I’ve opened this box I’d forgotten about her. In sixth
grade, I took her to an art gallery. Jonathan’s limo driver drove us. She said
she felt like a princess. In that photo booth, I stole a kiss from her.

I
tuck everything back, lock the box, and shove it under my bed.

With
my twelve-string in hand, I work out the chords for a new song. This is what
keeps me sane. It’s my therapy. I guess Jonathan and I do have something in
common.

These
chains bind me

Keeping
me from my true self

Tying
me to the walls of the past

Who
will set me free?

On Friday, guilt works its way
into me while I teach Jinx to read music. I shouldn’t have taken out my
frustrations on Currie. Sometimes, I forget that she’s just a little girl.
She’s at the Nowaks today, so no Heather trauma for her today.

Today,
Jinx smells citrusy, and her breath is like peppermint. Girls shouldn’t do this
to guys. No wonder I can’t concentrate at school. It’s their fault. I press so
close to her on the piano bench that she scoots as far to the other end as
possible. Another inch and she’ll be on the floor.

I
teach Jinx using the Lo Kno Pla method. It’s the easiest one I know. It starts
with a pictorial representation of the keys then progresses from there. The top
line shows finger positions, the middle, the note by letter, and the bottom,
the note duration.