Not Looking for Love: Episode 4 (13 page)

"Alright, I'll just try to picture it for now," he mutters and rolls on his side, facing away from me. "Take the keys."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Three lattes and two croissants later my eyes are glazing over, and the sky is lilac again, only from the sun setting this time. I've done all the googling and typing I can for today.

I pick up a few ham and cheese rolls for Scott on the way out, though I'd maybe prefer it if we just went out to dinner.
 

Raised voices are coming from Scott's apartment. I freeze on the last step, and almost turn around and run back down. The last time I heard him arguing with someone in his apartment he broke up with me afterwards. But then all goes quiet, so maybe it was just the TV. The apartment is completely silent as I let myself in and hang my jacket on a peg by the door.

Scott's sitting at the kitchen table, still in his pajamas, his face buried in the palms of his hands. Andrew's standing over him, clearing away the newspapers I left lying all over the table and arranging them into a neat pile. Brakes screech in the street below, and I'm still waiting to hear the crash, as Scott looks at me through his fingers, his eyes so deep and so black, I'm sure he'll never climb out of the well he's stuck in.

"It'll be fine, Scott. It's not your fault," Andrew says. His back is turned to me and he hasn't heard me come in.

And then the crash I've been waiting for finally comes, only it's behind me, at the front door. I shriek as it slams against the wall, followed by the metallic clink of the doorknob hitting the floor.

I try to scoot out of the way, but Mike's too fast. My shoulder collides with the wall, as he pushes me from his path.

"Gail!" Scott's on his feet, trying to reach me, but Mike's standing between us, his knuckles white from clutching the baseball bat.

"You're gonna pay for this, Scott!" Mike yells. "You're gonna pay right now."

Mike lifts the bat and I scream, covering my eyes, because it can't do anything but connect with Scott's head, they're standing too close.
 

"Michael!" Andrew yells. "What the fuck are you doing?"

But it's too late, because I can hear the bat wheezing through the air, hear it connect with something hard and breakable, followed by a grunt. I slide down the wall, my face pressed against my knees so hard it hurts. Even with my eyes closed I see Scott's blood pooling by my feet.

There's rustling, shuffling, followed by smack and a thud. I'm shaking; sure the whole building will collapse at any moment. My eyes flicker open and I stumble to my feet, my heart pounding so hard my vision is turning black at the edges. Andrew holds me back as I try to rush to Scott, who's holding the bat now, glaring at Mike kneeling on the ground.

"You will pay for this," Mike mutters, wiping blood off his lip then hoisting himself up off the ground.

"Just go," Andrew says. "Before anyone gets hurt."

He's speaking to Mike, but maybe the words are actually meant for me. Scott's not meeting my eyes. He's holding his left arm across his stomach, like maybe he can't move it very well, and the bat is shaking in his right.

Mike points at Scott. "It should be you. Not Derek, you!" And then he glares at Andrew. "How can you still be on his side?"

Andrew lets me go. "I'm on nobody's side. What happened, happened Mike. We can't change it."

Scott sits down, the back of his chair slamming into the wall, his right arm in his lap, the bat shaking in this left.
 

Andrew takes a step toward Mike, like he means to hug him, but Mike spits up blood and saliva on the floor, and stalks out. I bump into Andrew in my haste to get to Scott. I have to pry his fingers open to make him let go of the bat. He's staring down at the floor, not meeting my eyes.

"What happened, Scott?" I ask, my voice shrill, because it's still like I'm watching it all from over by the door.
 

He shakes his head, and tears well up in my eyes, burning my cheeks. "Are you OK?"

I nod and try to take his left hand, but he winces, his eyes wide. "Are you?"
 

I'm shaking so hard my teeth are chattering.

He brushes the hair from my eyes, and finally looks at me, smiling, but it doesn't reach his gleaming black eyes.
 

"I'm fine, Gail. It's OK. It's over," he says.

"That was fucked up," Andrew says and sits on one of the chairs with a thud. "I had no idea he'd react that way."

"It's all the coke he's been doing," Scott says, and tries to get me to stand up, but I'll just topple right back down if I do. "It could've been worse. But I think my arm's broken."

I gasp, and look up at him. "We have to go to the hospital then."

I'm already on my feet, trying to get him to stand up.

Half an hour later, I'm clutching Scott's hand in the emergency room, struggling to ignore the smell of disinfectant, and the memory of my mom's gleaming sightless dead eyes. This night could've ended so much worse, and I can't shake the sight of Scott's body laying in the morgue beside my mom, blood seeping into the white sheet covering it. But we're still on the ground floor of the hospital, still far from the top floor, the floor for the dying.

"This would be a lot easier if you had insurance, Scott," Andrew mutters, tapping his pen against the forms he's filling out.

"I never got around to it, alright?" Scott says. His jaw is clenched and his left arm is shaking slightly.
 

"In three months?" Andrew says. "if you sart getting things done any slower and you'll be going back in time."

Scott rolls his eyes. "That's a physical impossibility. Stop being such a mom."

"Stop giving me reasons." Andrew sighs and gets up, handing the forms to the nurse.
 

"How much longer do we have to wait?" I ask her, startling the elderly couple sitting a few seats down from us.

"We'll call you," she says and strides away, without even looking at me.

"It's fine, Gail. I can wait," Scott says, but his voice is hollow, and his eyes are still a matte black.

Andrew comes back from the vending machine and hands me a Coke, opening another for Scott. "I hope this doesn't take all night."

"You don't have to stay, Andrew," Scott says, then takes a long swallow of his drink. "Maybe you should go be with Dad."

Andrew takes the can from Scott and finishes it off, crumpling it in his hands. "Marjorie and Tina are there. And I'd rather not be, to tell you the truth."

Sadness is coiling between them, as cold as the can still unopened in my hand. Scott's leg is pressed against mine, shaking hard.
 

"Mike's right," Scott says. "It's all my fault."

"Don't talk like that. I'm sure Derek doesn't blame you," Andrew says softly. "He never wanted you involved in the first place. Or Mike, for that matter."

"Yeah, but Mike's got it all figured out now, and his big plans are probably gonna take us all down," Scott says, looking down at his hand, his words catching in his breath. "But that doesn't change the fact that it's all my fault.

"What's your fault?" I ask, unable to stop the words from coming. They're talking like I'm not even there.
 

"Never mind," Scott mutters. He could have died because of whatever happened, and I never even saw the danger coming, because of his secrets. His answer is beyond inadequate.

"Tell me," I urge.

"Maybe you should," Andrew says, but Scott just shakes his head, looking at neither of us.
 

I'm about to insist more, but the nurse calls his name, and then Andrew and me are alone in the waiting room.
 

"It's not always this violent with us," Andrew says after a while. "It's just the holidays that are a bit rough."

"Is that why you're leaving?" I ask, my mind again trailing far behind my voice.
 

"That too," he says after blinking at me a few times. "But also because it's time."

We don't speak any more after that, and the can of soda is warm in my shaking hands by the time Scott finally comes back out, his left arm in a cast. His eyes flick from mine to his brother's before finally settling on a spot somewhere behind us. "It's not that bad. Hardly needed a cast, in case you're wondering."

Andrew stands. "I don't suppose you brought your wallet?"
 

Scott shakes his head, handing Andrew the papers he's holding. "Ask for a discount. The nurse said she'd give it to me."

"I can pay," I say, fishing in my bag for the wallet.
 

They both look at me, then Andrew shakes his head. "There's no need, I got it. But Scott's paying me back first thing tomorrow."

Andrew takes out his card and pays the bill.
 

Then I'm in the back seat, the wind beating against my face, as I gaze up at the twinkling stars.

"I'll go see Dad tomorrow," Scott says once we're parked in front of his apartment and Andrew's waiting for us to get out of his car.
 

"That's fine. I'll make sure Mike doesn't come back here tonight," Andrew says, and his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. A shiver passes through me; they're so much like Scott's.

I stop just inside his apartment, picking up the doorknob off the floor. Both the locks of his home are broken now.

"Why did this happen, Scott?" I ask, holding the doorknob out to him.
 

He shakes his head and walks inside, leaving me standing in the doorway. "I told you. Shit like this always follows when I start to have a good time."

I try to close the door, but it won't stay shut. "That's such a bullshit answer, Scott."

He's sitting by the table again once I finally give up on the door and follow him inside.

"Why can't you just tell me what's going on? I can handle it."

His eyes flick up to mine, but then they focus on a spot somewhere behind me, and it's like I'm not even there.

"If you're in danger, I should know. Don't you think?"

I'm standing so close to him that our knees are touching. I kneel down and take his hand, kissing it lightly. "I have to know."

He squeezes my hand then lets go, leaning back. "I could tell you. But you and your pre-law degree won't like it."

I rise and pull up a chair, still holding onto his limp hand. "Let me decide for myself."

"Alright, Gail." He shrugs and stands up, walking to the fridge. "But I'm gonna need a drink first."

He pulls a bottle of vodka from the freezer, and brings it to the table along with a couple of glasses. I don't like that he has vodka and no food in his fridge, but this is not the time to bring it up, and for once my mouth obeys. I cough as I take too large a swallow, my throat on fire.

"You OK?" he asks and I nod, blinking back tears.

"Tell me."

"I don't even know where to start," he mutters, peeling the label off the bottle. A huge part of me wants to tell him he doesn't have to at all, because that's what he wants to hear, I know he does.

"I just got out of prison when we met," he says. The words land like a punch in my stomach.
 

"For what?" I manage, the room spinning around me.

"Stealing cars," he says and I can breathe a little easier. At least he didn't kill anyone.

"And you're still doing it?" It has to be yes, because the fat envelopes of cash and that cop visiting make no sense if he's not, but my heart still floods with hope when he shakes his head.

"Let's not get into that," he says. "Else you'll be like an accessory."

"You have to stop, right now, tonight!"

He takes a long swallow of his drink. "It's not as simple as that. I can't just walk away."

"Sure you can."

"Just listen, Gail," he mutters, pouring more vodka for both of us. But I can't stop talking, because then all the implications of what he's saying will crash down against me, bury me and all that could be.

"It's like a family business sort of thing," he says and smiles like he's telling a funny story, but it disappears as soon as his eyes find mine.
 

"My brother Derek, he ran the whole thing, been building it up since right after my mom died, more or less. But after I got arrested he made me give him up, so I could plea my way out of it…" His voice cracks and trails off, and he takes another long swallow of his drink. I'm opening and closing my mouth, but I don't know what to say. Cold sadness is snaking down my chest, encasing everything in thick, dirty ice.
 

"I didn't want to at first, but in the end I did. So I got nine months and he got ten years. So you see, I fucked everything up because I was careless, and now…now I can't just walk away because there's people who'll kill me, if I don't honor the agreements."

"Kill you?" I breathe out, the morgue, the bloody sheet all I see.
 

"Or Mike will," Scott says. "Though I'm pretty sure he'd prefer to see me spend the rest of my life in prison."

My heart's in my throat and I'm not even inside my body anymore. I'm standing by the door, barely hearing any of this.
 

"And it's what I deserve, anyway, because—" but his voice cracks again, and his chest is heaving. A drop of vodka trickles down his chin, as he takes another drink. Anguish is choking me, and I'm not sure if it's his or mine.

"You don't deserve any of it! You can just stop doing it and all will be alright. You can go back to school like that cop said, and never get in trouble again! Get a real job and leave all this behind!" My throat's sore by the time I'm done yelling.

Scott slams is glass against the table and I shake, lean back from the burning black anger in his eyes, but the hatred's not for me. "Derek got injured today. He's never gonna walk again." His whole body is shaking, the glass he's still clutching rattling against the tabletop. "I can't ever make up for that!"

My stomach is cramping worse than after I killed our baby, his hurt swelling my own. It's like I'm already looking at him through bars, lying in bed alone, while he's locked up, and I'm just waiting and crying, unable to sleep, to eat, to live.