Blindness (35 page)

“No, not that. I mean what the fuck is going
on, here—with you two?” he says, his face growing redder, and his
jaw flexing with every word.

Cody just slumps his arms to the side and
takes a deep breath before he looks at me. He’s waiting—he wants me
to do it, here and now—but I’m paralyzed. I can see his thoughts
behind his eyes, begging me. I try to open my mouth, but my lips
are dry, and all I can do is gasp and stutter.

Cody pulls his lips into a tight line and
sucks in, rolling his shoulders back, readying himself before he
faces Trevor. “I love her,” he says, and I feel my body slide
forward from the chair as the wind flees my lungs.

“What the fuck do you mean
you love
her
?!
”
Trevor says, getting closer to Cody, standing
with him toe-to-toe. Cody has him in height, but Trevor’s thicker,
and I know he’s strong. I grip the bottom of my chair, trying to
find courage.

“I’m sorry, Trevor,” is all that comes out,
but it seems to be enough. Trevor steps back a few paces, his hands
flying to his forehead, his eyes wide. He turns away from all of
us, and I stay in my chair, watching his every movement as he paces
back and forth, mumbling to himself. I glance at Cody, and he’s
looking at me, his mouth curved into the slightest smile, his hands
tucked into his pockets, and in that minute, I know I did the right
thing.

“You piece of shit!” Trevor yells as his fist
launches into the side of Cody’s jaw. Cody falls onto his back on
instinct, and Trevor sits on him, pinning him to the ground while
he continues to beat Cody’s face. Finally, he fights back, pushing
Trevor back on his heels.

“It wasn’t like that, Trevor. It just
happened, man. I just
get
her,” Cody says, trying to make
Trevor understand, trying to calm him down.

“
Get
her?” Trevor yells back. “You
hardly fucking
know
her!”

Cody’s face falls, and he stands up to push
Trevor back a few more times. “No, you don’t get to fucking do
that, man.
You’re
the one who doesn’t
know
her. You
don’t know a damn thing about who she
really
is! You just
want to turn her into your damned perfect wife, someone who’ll sit
back and play house with you, be there waiting for you when you
come home from work. But you’ve never once really thought about
what
Charlie
likes or what
Charlie
wants!” Cody’s
hands are shaking as he grabs a fistful of Trevor’s shirt. “But
I
do care what Charlie wants. That’s the thing, I care a
whole fucking lot! It’s my number-one goddamned priority!”

Trevor looks stunned, his arms limp at his
sides and his eyes intent on Cody’s. I can see him swallowing hard,
trying to keep his emotions in check, cool and calm, just like he
always is. But he can’t do it—not today—and soon his fist is
busting Cody’s nose, and blood is filling his shirt and splattering
on the dirt around him as Trevor continues to throw blows.

“Stop it!” I yell, standing to my feet and
trying to push myself between the two of them.

My phone rings, and my favorite Killers song
blasts through the small moment of silence between the grunts and
the sounds of knuckles hitting flesh. I press ignore, but seconds
later it’s ringing again. I ignore once more, yelling from the side
while Trevor and Cody roll along the ground, each fighting to gain
dominance, pulling and ripping shirts. When my phone rings a third
time, I pull it from my pocket and see my aunt’s picture. Just
wanting her to stop, I swipe to answer.

“Caroline, I’m sorry…but I’m going to have to
call you back,” I say, sliding the phone from my ear to hang up on
her.

“Charlie…it’s Mac. They found the guy,” she
says just loud enough to stop me, and I stumble back onto the
ground, falling on my ass. I fumble to get the phone back to my
ear, and I wave my hand in the air. “
Stop
!” I scream,
halting Cody and Trevor instantly with the sharp attack of my
words, which echo off of the nearby dirt mountains and metal
ramps.

I’m panting into the phone, willing myself
not to pass out. “What?” I say, the taste of bile souring my mouth,
and my body dazed.

“They found him, Charlie. They have him, and
we need you to come home,” Caroline says, her voice wavering from
crying. She cries a lot, but this one is different, and it has me
off-center. I can’t find reality, her words are so unexpected. This
call...it was never supposed to come.

“Where?” I ask, not sure I’m ready for her
answer.

“He was here. In Louisville. They got him in
a drug bust,” she says, and I’m nodding with her information. I’m
nodding because it fits everything—every nightmare, every feeling,
every suspicion I’ve had for the last three years. “You have to
come home, Charlie. They need you…to identify…”

“I know. I know. I talk to Brian…” I
interrupt her, holding my hand up to my chest and gripping at the
pain. “Okay, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

I hang up with Caroline, and I stand and
start walking to the car, to the parking lot, leaving the entire
mess I’ve made behind me. I have a new mess, a horror story,
waiting for me in Louisville—and that’s where my heart is now.

Cody is behind me in seconds, reaching for my
hand, but I jerk it away. “No, don’t touch me!” I say, lashing out
with my tongue. It’s not his fault, but I can’t handle everything
that’s happening all at once, and I don’t know how to be nice.

“Charlie, wait!” I stop and turn to him,
breathing in through my nose and fighting the hysterics that I know
are barely tucked below my surface. “What’s going on? Who the
hell’s Brian?”

Trevor is behind him now, and he answers
before I can.

“Detective Shiller,” he says, his eyes
understanding. Trevor doesn’t know the entire story, but he knows
enough, and he’s already pulling out his phone, making calls to the
airport for me.

“Detective?” Cody says, his confusion
apparent. “What are you doing?”

He’s grabbing Trevor’s arm, trying to figure
out who he’s calling, looking at Jessie and Gabe, who are just as
confused as he is, and then back at me. His eyes are full of
sadness and fear, and I know he’s afraid he’s losing me to some
strange unknown, and it breaks me—breaks through my trance—for just
a moment, just long enough.

“They found my dad’s killer,” I say, and I
see the flash of recognition, of understanding, in his eyes. “My
dad was a cop. He tried to stop a hold-up at a convenience store
when he was off-duty. I was in the car, and I saw the whole thing.
He shot him—in the back.”

I cover my mouth as the memory floods back to
me, and I collapse to my knees, my body convulsing, and my weeping
moans loud and disruptive.

Cody is next to me seconds later, pulling me
into his lap and squeezing me tightly, and I cling to him. Trevor
is pacing, making calls, and I know he’s broken from seeing this,
from seeing me lean on Cody, but I need him—now more than ever—so I
continue to hold him, and the fighting stops, at least for the
moment.

Chapter 17: Let’s Celebrate

Mac is beaming. He keeps reaching across the
seat and patting me on the shoulder, smiling.

The trophy is heavy between us, and I feel
badly that it’s denting in his vinyl seats. “Dad, I can move this
to the floor. It’s making holes,” I say, picking it up and rubbing
my finger over the small puncture on the bench seat of his
truck.

“
Bah,” Mac says, pushing the trophy back
down in its place. “I’ll tape the hole if it rips. I wanna see
this. I’m so proud of you, Charlie.”

My biggest fan, Mac hadn’t missed a single
golf tournament this season. Winning State felt more like something
we both did.

“
We should celebrate. Whadaya want?” he
says, pulling off the main highway to head into our neighborhood.
His lips are still red from the slushes we drank in the car, and it
makes me giggle. We make silly faces at a stoplight, and I snap a
few shots with my phone.

It’s late, and I’m pretty sure most of the
restaurants are closed. We’ve been driving for hours, heading home
from the tournament held at the university. By the time awards were
done, the sun was long gone.

“
Oh, I’m good with anything. How about
Wendy’s?” I say, knowing that the baked potato and chili is my
dad’s favorite. He looks at me and smiles, his eyes crinkling, like
Santa.

“
Sounds like a plan,” he says, pulling
onto the side street where the fast food joints are all clustered.
When we pull through the lot, the lights are off, but I can tell
the drive-thru’s open.

“
That’s fine,” I say, pointing to the menu
screen.

“
Nonsense, I want a sit-down meal to
celebrate this,” he says, patting the trophy and pulling up his
cheeks to grin.

We pass through three more restaurants, each
of them closed, and we start to laugh hysterically with each new
closed sign. “I think the gods are trying to tell me something,”
Mac says, rubbing his round belly. He has put on a few, but I think
it’s because for the first time in years he has joy in his life.
We’ve both come to this place, and it was really hard and painful
to get here, but it’s wonderful.

“
Hey, how about we get doughnuts and a
liter of Coke and pig out at home in front of the TV?” I say,
elbowing him and pointing to the convenience store flashing
“24/7.”

“
Charlie, I’m a cop—you had me at
doughnuts,” he laughs, his chuckle deep and raspy from years of
smoking his pipe. It’s a habit I want him to quit, but one I’ll
work on later. Tonight, I just want to celebrate with my
daddy.

We pull into a spot, between two really beat
up cars.

“
You just wait here, keep the motor
running. I don’t want to have to jump her,” he says, getting out
and signaling to me to lock the door behind him. I do as he says, I
always do. My dad’s paranoid about my safety.

I pick up my trophy and read the front,
tilting it to reflect from the store’s bright lights. “Kentucky
State Champion.” I’ve never really had something like this…an
achievement, I guess? I felt proud, and it was a strange feeling. I
was so used to feeling like I was nothing, like I was a burden or
an accident. I haven’t really thought about my mother in months,
but for some reason—tonight—she’s on my mind. I haven’t seen her
since the day she dropped me off with Mac, and I used to wonder
where she was, what she looked like, if she was well, or…alive?

The man standing at the clerk’s counter
inside reminds me of her. He’s twitchy, and his arms are covered in
bruises. He’s wearing a loose white tank top, and it’s dirty. He
looks almost homeless. I wonder where Mac is, and I start panning
the windows, trying to find him. I notice him crouched down behind
the bakery counter, his finger to his lips as he’s mouthing
something to the store clerk.

Something’s not right.

The clerk’s eyes are wide, and his hands are
raised. He’s shaking his head, talking nervously to the man in the
tank top.

I see the gun!

I look back for Mac, and I panic. He’s no
longer there. I scoot over to his seat and put my hand on the gear.
He must be sneaking out of the store, and when he does, I’ll have
him jump in, and I’ll speed away. Or if that guy looks like he’s
going to shoot, I’ll ram through the window.

My fingers are tingling, my hand muscles
flexing on the gear, ready to slide it into position. My heart is
pounding loudly in my ears, and my mouth is watering, like it does
before I throw up.

Where is he? Mac…where is he?

I’m about to push the gas when the guy at
the counter raises his arm, like he’s about to shoot, and out of
nowhere, Mac tackles him, pushing him into the counter and wrapping
his hand around the man’s wrist, pounding it repeatedly into the
register until the gun is forced loose from his grip.

The gun falls to the floor, and my dad kicks
it to the side, away from the man as he pulls his arms behind his
body, holding them together. Mac’s yelling something to the clerk,
pointing his head to the phone, but the clerk still isn’t moving.
He’s just standing there, and he still looks scared. He’s in shock,
I think.

Then I see him.

The shots fire, and my dad falls to the
ground.

Blood is everywhere.

The man in the shirt runs through the doors
first, ripping the door open for the car next to me and cranking
the engine loudly. His wheels are spinning so fast they’re smoking,
and he’s backing out, backing away from me. I look at him, right in
the eyes, and then I duck out of instinct. He’s pulled sideways
behind me, blocking the truck in, and I start to shake with
fear.

They’re going to shoot me next.

I look back into the store, looking for Mac.
But instead I see him—my father’s killer. He runs at the truck so
fast that he smashes into the front bumper, slamming his knee into
it. He looks up, right at me, and his face is ghost white, void of
any emotion but fear, and I memorize every last feature of him.

He’s by me seconds later, jumping through
the window of the car, and I watch as it pulls away, no license
plate on the back to read.

I can hear the wailing sounds of the store
clerk inside. He’s racing around the counter, trying to wake up my
dad, feeling his pulse and shaking his body.

I leave the car running, the door open
behind me, and I race into the store, sliding on my knees at his
side.

“
Daddy!” I cry. “Daddy, can you hear me?
Stay with me, oh god, Daddy please!”

The store clerk is dialing 911, and I hear
him give the address.

“
Tell them he’s a police officer! Officer
down!” I yell loudly enough for the operator to hear.