Legacy (3 page)

“There it is,” Mrs. Taylor said, pointing out the old air conditioner in the wall. “Nothing cool comin’ out of that.”

“Not sure what I can do,” Lucas said, walking over to give it a look. The machine was old, and he was surprised that it had worked as long as it had. When he turned it on, it made a low humming sound, sending warm air out the vents.

On the news, a Chicago woman and her child were describing how they had been saved from an apartment fire by a superhero called the Winged Champion. Lucas looked up, finding himself pulled into the story. He watched the grainy cell phone footage of the superhero with enormous white wings swooping down out of the sky to pluck the woman and her daughter from the rooftop of the collapsing building.

“Wow,” Lucas said.

“Yeah,” Mrs. Taylor agreed. “Wonder if one of them super-types could figure out what’s wrong with my AC.”

Lucas took the hint and returned his full attention to the old woman’s air conditioner. He pulled the plastic face from the front of the unit and curled his nose with distaste.

“Fluffles doesn’t happen to like sitting on the AC, does he?” Lucas asked.

The inside of the unit was clogged with tufts of white fur, the old filter completely covered.

“Matter of fact, he does,” Mrs. Taylor confirmed.

Lucas pulled the filter from inside the AC and brushed most of the fur into a barrel that Mrs. Taylor brought from the kitchen.

“This might help,” he said, putting the filter back. “I think it might’ve just been clogged.”

He reattached the unit’s front piece. “Fingers crossed,” he said, flipping the switch and feeling a blast of much cooler
air flow from the vent openings. “I think that did it,” he said proudly.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Mrs. Taylor said happily. She reached inside the pocket of her flowered housecoat and removed a change purse. “How much do I owe you?” she asked, unzipping the purse and removing a wad of crumpled bills.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he answered.

Every time he did something for the woman, she tried to pay him. But Lucas wasn’t interested in taking the old lady’s money. He knew she barely had enough to support herself as it was.

“What, do you think you’re one of them super-types?” she asked, gesturing toward the television. “Swoopin’ in to save the day?”

Lucas laughed. “Not me,” he told her. “Think of me more as a Boy Scout.”

“You’re too good to me, Lucas,” she said with a smile, returning her small purse to her pocket.

“My pleasure.” Lucas cautiously headed for the door, watching for Fluffles.

“Word to the wise,” Mrs. Taylor whispered. “Think your mom’s been hittin’ the hooch.” She made a gesture as if drinking from a bottle.

Lucas nodded and his stomach sank. He hated when his mother drank; it always ended with her crying.

As he crossed the street toward their trailer, he’d almost decided to take his truck and head to the Hog Trough. But then he saw her, glass in hand, standing in the doorway waiting for him.

And he didn’t have the heart to leave her alone.

* * *

Lucas leaned into the refrigerator, looking for something to eat. He found some old pizza and leftover spaghetti and meatballs.

“Did you eat yet?” he asked his mother, carrying the leftovers to the microwave.

Cordelia was sitting at the small kitchen table, a nearly empty glass of whiskey in her hand.

“I had a big lunch,” she answered, her eyes riveted to the melting ice in her glass.

“Lucas, do you hate me?” she asked suddenly.

He rolled his eyes as he put the spaghetti in the microwave and hit the two-minute button. He hated when she got like this. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did, it was the worst.

“No, I don’t hate you. Why would I?” he said. He could hear the ice in her glass tinkle like Christmas bells. He tried to concentrate on the spaghetti.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this place,” she said, her words slightly slurred.

Lucas wondered how many drinks she’d had.

“It’s fine, Ma,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. All I know is Perdition. I don’t know what I’m missing.”

She nodded, getting up from her chair and going to the counter, where the bottle of whiskey was waiting.

“And that’s exactly it,” she said as she unscrewed the cap and splashed more of the golden liquor over the ice. “You are missing stuff … lots of stuff. … You’re wasting your life away working in a crappy garage because I wasn’t strong enough to—”

The microwave alarm went off.

“Ma, enough,” Lucas said, replacing the spaghetti in the microwave with a paper plate that held three slices of cheese pizza. “I don’t know why you keep blaming yourself for coming here.”

This was the pattern. She got a little bit drunk and started talking about how she had to run from her past in Seraph City. No matter what he said to console her, it never helped.

And really, Lucas had never blamed her for leaving. Sure, he was curious about the specifics, about a father he knew nothing of, but he always figured she had done what she had to do, nothing more or less than that.

She was adding ice to her drink as he sat down to eat. He didn’t want to talk about this stuff anymore, but when she was like this, there was no stopping her.

“You know how sorry I am, right?” she asked, practically falling into her chair.

“Be careful,” Lucas said, spearing a meatball and starting to eat.

She reached out to touch his hand. Hers was damp and cold from the condensation on her glass, and Lucas almost pulled away, but then realized how that would look to her.

“There’s no reason for you to be sorry,” he said, grabbing a slice of pizza with his other hand.

“I always wanted the best for you.” She had tears in her eyes now. “But I had to get away from the city … as far away as possible or …” She fell silent, staring into her glass once again. And then she had some more to drink.

“Ma, I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you this,” Lucas began. “But I like it here. This is my home. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

“But—” she started to argue.

“No buts,” he interrupted. “Perdition is fine. Everything I could ever want is here.” He got up and took his dirty dishes to the sink. “End of story.”

He returned to his mother, put his arm around her, and gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“You might want to think about making yourself some coffee or something,” he said, heading toward his room. “I’m gonna call it a night.”

And he left her there alone.

Alone with the memories of her past, and what she believed to be her failures.

Shaking off the cobwebs of deep sleep, Lucas pulled himself from beneath the sheet and saw that it was after eight.

The garage was supposed to open at eight.

He threw on some clothes, grabbed his wallet and his keys, and pulled open the door to his room.

He half expected to see his mother still sitting at the kitchen table, but from the looks of it, she’d managed to get up and make it out to the diner on time. Lucas half recalled somebody knocking on his door and telling him it was time to get up, but he had decided it was only a dream and had rolled over.

Locking up the trailer, he went to his truck.

Mrs. Taylor was outside again, this time watering her
plants in a spectacularly colored housecoat and a new, brunette wig. “Late again,” she called out, and began to cackle.

Lucas shrugged and climbed behind the wheel of his truck. Within seconds, he peeled away from the trailer and was on his way to work.

Lucas breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled into the gas station and saw that Big Lou’s gas-guzzling SUV was not in its usual spot alongside the office.

But then he noticed the black Ford Mustang parked in front of the garage doors.

A customer, waiting.

Lucas parked his truck in the back and quickly ran to the front, searching through his key ring.

He unlocked the door to the main office first, then flicked the switch to raise the doors to the service bay.

A man had stepped from the waiting car, watching Lucas with an intense stare.

“Morning,” Lucas said, walking around the garage and flipping on the lights. “What can I do for you?”

The older man was dressed in black and walked with a cane. The haircut, clothes, and car all screamed that the guy was from the city, maybe from Texas.

“It says you open at eight,” he said.

“Yes, it does,” Lucas agreed with a polite smile.

The man looked at his fancy watch. “And here it is close to eight-thirty.”

Lucas looked at an imaginary watch on his own wrist. “Huh,” he said, tapping his wrist. “Must be slow.”

The man chuckled. “I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I’ve been waiting for some time.”

“Yeah, and I’m really sorry about that,” Lucas said. “Why don’t you tell me what I can do for you?”

The man looked from Lucas to his car and back. “My car seems to be running a bit rough.”

Lucas nodded. “Would you mind driving it in?”

The older man limped back to the car, got behind the wheel, and drove the Mustang inside.

“Leave it running and pop the hood, please,” Lucas told him.

The old man silently did as he was told, then limped over to the workstation and leaned on the table to watch Lucas work.

Lucas stuck his fingers beneath the hood, found the latch, and pushed it up, peering down into the engine. He immediately went to work checking off mental boxes as each item on the list met with his satisfaction.

“Live around here?” the man asked from behind him.

“Yeah,” Lucas responded as he checked the various hoses.

“Lived here your whole life?” the older man continued.

“My whole life,” Lucas repeated. He listened to the engine. It sounded fine to him.

“Still in school?” the man asked.

Lucas answered before he could really think about the question. “Should be, but I dropped out to work full-time.”

“Hmmm, not too smart, was it?”

Lucas pulled himself from beneath the hood. “I think it was,” he answered with annoyance.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
“Wasn’t learning anything that would help me in the future, so I decided to start my career early and make some money.”

The man looked around at the old garage. “Such a career,” he said with a chuckle.

Lucas felt his annoyance turn to anger. “Sorry,” he said, leaning through the driver’s-side door to turn off the engine. The new-car smell hit him immediately. “Can’t find anything wrong with your car. Maybe you should take it to a more educated mechanic.”

“Didn’t think you would find anything,” the older gentleman said, pushing off from the worktable and limping closer to Lucas. “I just bought it yesterday.”

“So what the hell did you have me looking under the hood for?” Lucas asked, temper flaring.

“I wanted to see you,” the man said, limping closer still. “I’ve traveled pretty far just to talk to you.”

“What did you want to talk to
me
for?” Lucas snarled.

The man just stared.

“I’m your father,” he said finally. The words seemed to suck all the sound from the garage.

Lucas stumbled back, feeling as if he had been slapped across the face. “Wha—what did you just say?”

“You heard me,” the man said. “I’m your father, and I’ve come to speak with you about—”

Lucas was suddenly moving. First he slammed the driver’s-side door, and then he walked to the front of the car.

“You’d better go,” he said. He couldn’t think. He pictured his brain exploding into sparks like those computers did in the old movies.

And then he pictured his mother, drinking herself into oblivion as she thought about the bad old days. Days that this guy probably had something to do with, if he was indeed who he said he was.

“We have to talk,” the older man urged, his limp more severe as he tried to step closer.

“Get out,” Lucas yelled, slamming the hood of the Mustang.

“Everything all right in here, Lucas?” Big Lou’s massive bulk suddenly filled the doorway between the main office and the garage.

The old man glanced quickly at Big Lou, then turned his eyes back to Lucas.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Lucas said, his gaze not leaving the old man. “I was just giving this guy directions to the highway. You got those all right, old fella?” he asked, venom dripping from every word.

The old man nodded slightly and walked to the driver’s side of the car. “I’ve got it,” he said, opening the door and carefully lowering himself behind the wheel. “Nice talking with you.”

Lucas suddenly wanted to say so much more to the man… wanted to slice him apart with the savagery of the words that now filled his head. Instead, his eyes followed the Ford Mustang as it backed from the garage, into the lot, and onto the road out front.

I’m your father
. The words reverberated inside his skull, pounding like the worst migraine he’d ever had.

I’m your father
.

And suddenly Lucas was sick, leaning over while what little there was in his stomach spewed from his gaping mouth into the garbage barrel.

Lucas didn’t know how long he’d been standing in front of the Good Eats Diner.

The morning was a complete blur. As soon as the old man
… his father …
had left the garage, Big Lou had been on him to straighten up the shop and work the pumps.

It had been pretty insane the last few days—first the business with Richie Dennison and now this. If things kept going the way they were, he was pretty much certain he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight thought in his head.

Things are just getting too freakin’ weird
.

And now, standing out in front of his mother’s place of employment, he had the chance to make them even weirder.

Lucas had no idea what to do. Should he tell his mother what had happened across the street—who had paid him a visit?

His thoughts flashed back to the night before. She had drunk herself into a stupor over something that had happened years past. He’d never really asked for specifics, because he’d
never really cared. Something had made her leave Seraph City, and he guessed it had something to do with her being pregnant, and with the guy who had just introduced himself.