CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TILO ADAMS
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. “I should have never left that house without killing Moses. What the fuck was I thinking?” I brought my hand down hard on the countertop. When he came for me, and I had no doubt that he would, it would be my own fault. I felt like kicking my own ass. I shouldn’t have taunted him, but every time I closed my eyes I saw his face. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life running from that motherfucker. He should’ve been plant food by now. If he didn’t give up the chase, I was going to make it happen.
If he had shown half the balls I’d given him credit for when we were plotting to steal the money, I might’ve brought him along with me. “Naw, bitch, who you fooling? You never learned to share as a child, and you’re too damn old to learn how to do it now. He can kiss my black ass. That’s what he can do for me.” It didn’t bother me at all that I was having a conversation with myself.
That’s because you killed everyone else in your life who mattered to you.
I looked around for the voice inside my head. It started yapping the moment I used my gun for greed instead of serving and protecting. Some might call it a conscience, but to me it was just another fucking pain in the ass that I cared not to deal with. “Shut the fuck up,” I shouted.
I took one last look around my apartment then I placed my final items in my suitcase. With my new look, I was finally comfortable enough to chance leaving the country. I was blond now. The dreads I’d spent so much time grooming were a thing of the past. I had a new identity and with it a new life. I looked like Bianca. I regretted my decision not to leave town immediately after the murders. My logic, at the time, was to take my time deciding where I wanted to live so I wouldn’t risk additional exposure by hopping from place to place. Historically, most criminals were caught after or during their travels. They were most exposed because they could not control things and the people around them. I didn’t want to make the same mistake. I wanted to find a locale where I could grow old, fat, and happy.
In order to do this, I had to find out if anyone other than Moses was searching for me. The last thing I needed was to show up at the airport and get arrested. Hence, my call to Moses. He didn’t appear surprised to hear from me, so I concluded he hadn’t given up and would be a major thorn in my side until I found a way to eradicate him. I already knew money wasn’t the answer, or, at this point, an option. I was gonna have to either kill the motherfucker or make him wish I had. Didn’t much matter to me whichever way it went down.
As I gazed into the mirror I didn’t recognize myself. It wasn’t just the hair, it was in my eyes. They were blank and no longer filled with light. Tears flowed out of my eyes, and I was certain that life as I knew it was over. I’d killed two innocent people and stolen their inheritance. I bought myself a front-seat ticket on a one-way, custom-painted rollercoaster ride straight to hell.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VERÓNICA RAMSEY
“I’m not going to be able to take you to the hospital until my Moses gets home from work. I don’t want to keep taking the baby to the hospital and exposing him to all those germs.” I had just put LM back to bed. If I didn’t need to go to the hospital, I would’ve gotten into the bed myself.
“Why can’t we get a babysitter?”
I looked at my father like he had lost his damn mind. What did he mean, we? I wasn’t sure about letting him go to the hospital. Victória had only been awake a few days and I didn’t want to upset her. He was reading the paper but put it down as he watched me.
“Babysitter? That’s not about to happen. Moses and I haven’t even broached the subject of babysitters yet. I’m terrified about leaving my baby with strangers. You never know what they could be doing while you aren’t there to protect them.”
“When will he be back? I really want to see Victória.”
For some reason his statement angered me. I felt like he was getting comfortable with a very uncomfortable situation. Most days I could catch myself before I went off on him, but those days were getting harder and harder. I swung back and forth between loving and hating him. If he was so eager to see us, why did it take the death of our mother to bring him home? I spoke before I could get a hold of my thoughts. “What’s the rush now? You missed most of our lives. You missed all of Ramón’s.” I shocked both of us with the brutal truth. I promised myself I would keep my negative feelings to myself but all the anger I felt rolled out of my mouth unchecked. Before I knew what was happening, I had assumed the ghetto chick, neck-rolling posture of someone about to kick ass in the streets. He didn’t know nothing about that shit and something deep inside of me wanted to be the one to show him.
“He will be home when he finishes taking care of his business because, unlike you, he provides for his family. He doesn’t just send money. He’s here for his son.” I didn’t have to finish the rest of my statement because he knew what I was going to say. I slumped down on a chair, ashamed of myself. It had to be hormonal because I would never intentionally be mean.
He said, “Your words hurt, but nothing you can say can hurt me more than my own inaction. I know I have my shortcomings, but there are a lot of things you don’t understand. I’ve always provided for this family.”
I shook my head because he still didn’t get it. Being a father wasn’t about the money. We needed him but that time had come and gone. I wasn’t feeling well and I was taking it out on my father. “Padre, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to start an argument with you. A lot of things have gone on over the past few months and my body is playing tricks with me. I want to make sure Victória is okay, and then we can deal with all this other stuff later.” I felt defeated.
“Verónica, I spoke to Moses the other day and he made a very valid point. He said I should be the one to explain myself to both you and Victória. He, uh—”
“When did you get to speak with Moses? He didn’t say anything about it to me.”
Padre turned red and looked very uncomfortable, but I was not about to let him off the hook.
“Well, I, uh, I ... uh—”
“What are you not telling me?” I was imagining all kinds of things, so I needed him to tell me what really went down so I could stop coming to my own conclusions. Moses was different yesterday, and I needed to know if my father had something to do with it.
“It’s nothing really. I didn’t realize your husband didn’t mention it to you.” He walked into the kitchen and I followed him.
I was really getting mad. The way he said it, his tone implied there was something wrong with my marriage.
“It must have slipped Moses’ mind. He normally tells me everything.”
My father stared at me like he didn’t believe a damn thing I said. Of course it could have been my hormones making me act all crazy and shit.
“Have you said anything to Victória about me?”
I paused, distracted. I wanted to know why Moses didn’t tell me about speaking to my father. I also wanted to know what else he was hiding from me.
He said, “Verónica.”
My father brought me back to the present. I’d forgotten what we were speaking about.
“Huh?”
“Have you told Victória anything about me?”
“I haven’t told her that you are here. She’s still getting herself together, so I don’t want to bombard her with too much information at one time.” I started to get nervous. Truth was that I hadn’t told Victória anything, not even about our brother Ramón. I was waiting for her to ask me what happened.
“She hasn’t asked any questions?”
I fidgeted. “Well ... she’s curious about what happened to her.”
“She doesn’t remember anything?” He pulled a glass from the cabinet and poured some water in it.
“Uh, she believes you have something to do with her being in the hospital.”
A vein in his neck stuck out; he stopped moving, glass halfway to his mouth.
“Me? Are you serious? And you’re okay with allowing her to believe this when you know I had nothing to do with it?” He was ass-kicking mad. He slammed his glass down on the counter and started pacing back and forth.
“Padre, I don’t know what I’m doing right now. She looks so frail, I don’t know how much she can take. Hell, what do you think we should do?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I think we should tell her right now! There’s been too much deception as it is, and I’m ending this shit today. No more deception.” He looked as if he wanted to strike me.
“I’m not the one who started this shit.” I followed him into the living room.
He put me on the defensive as he stood over me. Who the hell did he think he was?
He can’t come in my house and tell me what the fuck to do. That shit is over and done with.
“It doesn’t matter who started it, Verónica. It has to end. I can’t have Victória thinking I harmed her or her brother.” His voice was more subdued and authentic.
“She doesn’t know about Ramón, either.” Since I was being honest, I confessed to the rest of it too.
“That’s it! I’m going to the hospital now.” He rushed toward the door.
“Padre, wait, at least let me go with you. She doesn’t know you.”
He looked like he was about to refuse but he lowered his hand.
“Fine, hurry up. This shit has gone on long enough.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as I reached for the phone to call Moses.
I had mixed emotions about his tears. While I understood he wasn’t responsible for the actions of his brother, he created the circumstances that allowed the situation to happen. And I was not about to let him go to the hospital and possibly destroy all the progress my sister had made toward recovery. That was not about to happen if I had anything to do with it.
Padre stumbled, falling back onto the couch, clutching his heart. His face turned blue; he looked like a Smurf. I immediately regretted lashing out at him.
“Padre!” I screamed, running toward him. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?” I knelt in front of him, uncertain of what I needed to do. The last thing I needed was another parent dying right before my eyes.
“I need to see Victória,” he said, gasping for breath. Padre changed right before my eyes, suddenly looking old and sickly.
He’s faking. There’s nothing wrong with him,
I thought.
“Padre, are you ill?” Even though I didn’t believe his little act, my heart started beating a little faster. What if he wasn’t faking? I didn’t think I could stand to lose both my parents, even though he’d been absent most of my life.
“I need my pills. They are in the side pocket of my suitcase,” he moaned and rolled over on his side. His tongue hung from the side of his mouth. He appeared to struggle for air.
Faking or not, I rushed to his room and grabbed his suitcase and brought it back to the living room. I beat myself up for being so mean and hateful. As much as I wanted to hate him, I still loved him. My hands shook as I dug into his case. I kept looking over at him to see how he was doing. “Should I call for an ambulance?” I was getting nervous.
He shook his head and I continued to search.
“Do you have them?” he asked as my fingers closed around a small prescription bottle.
“Yes, here they are. How many do you need?” The directions were on the front of the bottle but the words would not come into focus.
“One.”
The fucking bottle wouldn’t open. It had one of those child-safety caps on it, which were designed in my opinion to piss folks the fuck off. A few seconds later I opened the bottle and shook out a single tablet into his hand. He held it, his eyes beseeching me for assistance. I raised his arm, guiding his hand to his mouth. He placed the pill under his tongue. He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. I was scared.
“Are you okay?” My face was inches away from his nose.
He didn’t answer, just nodded his head. I sat down next to him and watched him like a hawk. His color slowly started to return. I wondered what was wrong with him that he could have an attack so quickly and recover seemingly in minutes. However, those minutes seemed like hours. Slowly, he opened his eyes. His breathing had slowed down as well.
“That was a big one,” Padre replied as he struggled to sit up straight.
“How long has this been going on?”
He eyes didn’t meet mine.
He said, “About five years, but there’s nothing to worry about. It’s all under control.”
He didn’t appear to be in control to me. What if I wasn’t there and he couldn’t reach his pills? What would have happened then? Would he have died?
“How come—” I didn’t have to finish my statement. My parents were the masters of deception.
“It’s not so bad ... as long as ... I keep my medicine close ... no stress.”
He was in the wrong house for that shit. Part of me wanted him to go to a hotel, but the daughter in me wanted to keep him close so I could look out after him.
He looked at me, sadness filled his eyes. “So much wasted time.” A tear slid out of his right eye.
I reached up and wiped it away. It was a tender moment, filled with forgiveness and remorse. We both turned when we heard a key in the door.