Leon's Way (24 page)

“We need to talk at some point,” I tell my brother.

Arria is three small weeks from giving birth. She and I are close now, and she keeps me informed of Shishi’s state of mind. It’s all based on how often he’s in the Bag Room and when he takes off on his bike. “You avoid me like I’m your enemy, Shishi,” I continue. “What happened? Why aren’t we sharing what we’re going through with our father?”

“Quit being in my face,” he barks. I’m not going there, not speaking up against his accusation. All I care about is persuading him. We are having this conversation. Dad’s getting worse, and he’s back in the hospital for the millionth time since I moved to Deepsilver. His liver is shot, and his doctor has no hope of a donor being assigned to him within the days, maybe weeks he’s got left to live.

“Leon, you’ve got
days
left to set things straight with the sperm donor. What if he slides into a coma and doesn’t wake up before you do?”

The bank is a block from Smother, which is where he’s heading. I’m just stalking him—bugging him. Leon stops and twists to me. My brother’s voice has that low, menacing lilt I prefer not to be on the receiving end of when he replies.

“Katsu. I do all that I can. Everything. I go to the damn hospital almost every day. Hell, thanks to Arria, I even see a fucking shrink.”

“Yeah, but do you follow the shrink’s recommendations?”

“What, and let the son of a bitch talk to me? Fucking apologize, get shit off his chest so that it’s all on me instead of on him? Hell no!”

A rush of urgency courses through me. How do I make him understand? It’s at the tip of my tongue again: even if I know that it doesn’t sway him, I’m dying to repeat what I’ve told him for months.

I change my tactic. “Shishi, we’ve only visited separately since the first time Dad was hospitalized. Can we go together again?”

His focus bounces to me. “To the hospital?”

“Yeah. I’d like your company.”

He thinks. Studies my expression for hidden agendas, but if anyone can remain camouflaged under my brother’s shrewd stare, it’s me.

“Will you shut up, then?” he growls.

I touch his arm. Press my fingers to his bicep in a reassuring clasp. The muscle isn’t giving. At all. Arria is right. I have never seen my brother like this. Not even at sixteen when he worked out nonstop for his black-belt graduation do I recall him this fit. It’s not good.

“Yeah, I’ll shut up.”

We’re in his truck, minutes from the hospital. Leon drives too fast because he’s trapped, forced to hear me out, and I can’t keep my mouth shut. This isn’t a rerun of my plea for him to let Dad talk and listen to his apologies. No, I simply tell Leon how I feel about our father. The last months have been a roller coaster for me too, just in a different way than for Leon. Me, I haven’t once budged from my goal of getting the past out of my system.

“So now you know,” I finish. “Our father might not be the best person in the world as a sober man either, but how he acted back then, with Mom and us, was the alcohol.”

“Kat, you’re rehashing old news. It doesn’t change the childhood he took from us.”

“I know—”

“Have you noticed how I hardly drink?” Leon asks.

I have noticed. “Is it because you get like Dad?”

In his teens and early twenties, Leon drank, but now he’s twenty-six, and despite owning two clubs, the most I’ve seen my brother take is a single glass of wine.

His reply explodes out, silencing me. “No! I’d never become like him.” Then, he sighs, reeling himself in. “Just, I’m not ready to take that chance, not even with the most miniscule possibility of it happening—which is my point; our father knew how he became when he boozed up. He still did it.”

We’re in the hospital garage. My brother unlocks the doors, and I unbuckle myself, grabbing my purse to get out. A shiver goes up my spine at the thought of this visit; the last one with Shishi is still with me.

“Not everyone has your self-control, brother.” As I say it, I realize how I sound. Like I’m excusing our tormentor, like I could be abused by someone with our father’s personality in the future. That’s exactly how Leon takes it.

“What the fuck, Kat?” he yells. The parking deck is dark, concrete walls surrounding us, a sliver of grey light sieving in from where it’s open between the banister and the ceiling.

“No, that’s not how I meant it. You misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand? You’ve got to be shitting me. You want to hear a story I told your poor father the other day?” My brother’s voice echoes off the walls.

“Sshh, okay.” I scan the space. No one else is in here, thank God. We’re at the elevator, but Shishi doesn’t push the button. Good, because I can’t be trapped in such a small, claustrophobic space with his stories. I steel myself, covering my mouth and breathing into a cupped palm while I wait.

His story will suck. I won’t have heard it before. Shishi harbors secrets I never learned of because I was so much younger when they transpired. Since then he’s been shielding me—only lately, he’s been more… forthcoming.

He calms himself, nostrils flaring as he registers my anxiety. Leon’s already rethinking his outburst. It’s good for him, though, to get this out. All the bottling up is not, and I’m resilient. I can take his stories.

“Ah, forget it,” he says, pitch breaking.

“No, don’t back out. Tell me—now.”

Two fingers go to the bridge of his nose, pressing deep against the corners of his eyes. “My memory is hazy from before you were born. I remember being happy with Mom, though. I don’t recall our father slapping her around much. He had his job and would come home late. At that time, he didn’t always hang at the bars for hours after work, I think.

“At the house, Mom and I used to have some peaceful, afterschool hours before we knew if Dad would return drunk. We’d spend time together, sometimes simply talking. She would tell me about Japan, how she’d always dreamed of going. She’d lie on her side on top of the comforter, watching me play with the toy motorcycles she’d bought for me. Every afternoon, when the time came, she’d make it into a game to hide them from Dad in case he came home drunk. He’d break them, then. Toss my toys out.”

I laugh softly, because it’s what we do. There’s humor in the weirdest things from our childhood. Shishi grins too. “She was clever. Our secret hiding spot was between their mattresses. Dad would never find them there.” His smile sinks.

“One day Dad came home early. He was drunk. Mad. He slammed the front door open, and Mom rushed to get me into my own room before he got to their bedroom. There was no time. I remember his hard footsteps down the hallway. Mom shoving me into her closet and shutting the door behind me.”

I swallow, afraid. Shishi turns his dark gaze forward, presses the elevator button. The doors slide open immediately, and he indicates for me to enter first. I cross my arms, hesitant. Leon lets it go.

“She cried, Kat. Begged for mercy he wouldn’t give. He didn’t listen. I was too young to understand what was happening at the time, but you were conceived that day.”

A sob slips out of me, and Shishi reaches out from within the mud bath of his memories. Strokes my hair. “That’s all,” he says, sounding almost comical.

“That’s all, huh?”

“Yeah—that’s the whole sad story. Done.”

My vision is blurry as he leads me into the elevator. Leon makes sure we get off on the right floor. “You know, Kat—and you’ll like this. Nine months later, when you were born?”

“Yeah?” I dry my eyes with the back of my hand. I’ll need the bathroom before I can face the sperm donor. I’ll need a coffee too, I think. Or maybe I can’t face him after all. Maybe we should go home.

“Our father had a sober streak starting when he brought you and Mom back from the hospital. Those were some good weeks. Probably wasn’t sunny every day, but it felt that way. I remember playing on the couch in the living room, waiting for you to arrive. I looked up and
you
were there, even before you guys pulled up in the driveway.”

“What do you mean? Supernaturally there or something?”

“Yes, I’m not kidding. I heard your voice say, ‘Don’t worry—I’m here now. We’re in this together.’”

Shishi’s words. As always, he finds a way to brighten my mood. “You were right,” he finishes. “I was disappointed at first, though, thinking I’d get a sister my age. Because who cares about babies?”

“Bummer,” I say. “Sorry—I should’ve known better than to be an infant.”

Leon acknowledges my joke with the slight curl of his lips. “Through the toughest times after our mother left, I kept recalling what you promised, and I couldn’t wait for you to grow up. It was hope to me.”

We grab that coffee, and we don’t discuss whether we’ll head to the sperm donor’s or not. “Did I live up to your expectations?” I ask.

Shishi picks up a package of creamer and turns it between his fingers. His gaze gleams the way only my brother’s can. “Yeah. When my approach didn’t work, yours might, remember? We
were
in it together.”

“Yep,” I laugh. “You confronted him, asking for trouble, while I used more peaceful means by diverting his attention.”

“Do you still want to see him?” Shishi finally asks.

I blow out a breath. Yeah. We’re doing this. “Let’s go.”

This visit is different. Our dad looks terrible, and yet my sympathy for him isn’t where it’s been lately. Funny how a stroll within Shishi’s memories can do that to a person.

“Dad.” I nod. I feel the need to procrastinate, so I head to the sink on the opposite wall and wash my hands.

“Hangin’ in there?” Leon asks, sounding civilized. It’s almost like a “how are you,” but not quite.

“Both of my children,” our father wheezes.

“Indeed. Here to lend support.” Leon chortles.

Surprised, I swing to look at my brother. Even though his tone is sarcastic, mild amusement is all I see. The resentment, the turmoil from earlier, is gone. I wonder if Shishi feels lighter.

The vibe I’m getting from him makes me brave and ready to stir the pot. Our father doesn’t have long now, the doctors say. Unless he, an alcoholic, miraculously speeds up the donor list to a fresh liver, they’ll be moving him to hospice on the north side of the property soon.

I won’t miss him. I’m over lamenting who he never was, but my brother’s time to find closure is running out. All I can do is talk, try to skew the process in a more constructive direction than the one-sided outbursts Leon seems to have indulged in so far. I select one of his stories. One I’ve at least partly digested.

“Father, I just learned that you kidnapped me as an infant.” As I say it, the knowledge stabs at my abdomen. This is how it is, though; you gotta process the pain.

The faint glimmer of hope in the sperm donor’s eyes perishes like
he
will soon. He must have thought things were different with the two of us visiting together. I’m a good person. I see that he’s weak. Out of compassion, I want to let this go, but my loyalty, my love is with my brother, who’s strong, broken, about to lose
his
love because he’s chained to the sufferings of our childhood. Besides, what does another bite from the proverbial lance do to an old, evil man?