Chapter 34 – January 15, 1988: Part III

I fold the pages, stuff them back in the envelope, and shove it in my purse. I stare out the window, incapable of landing on a single emotion. For a moment, the fantasies take over. Jumping through the glass. Stabbing scissors into my carotid. Quitting. Running away. Buying a bottle of gin and a pack of cigarettes and giving into all the vices I avoid.

Circular thought processes fill my brain.

I stand, planning to leave and determine a reaction later.

Tom's voice is quiet, soft. "Ra'Shelle, are you–"

As if outside of myself, I see my knees buckle, and I catch myself on the heels of my hands. Immediately, the pain shoots into my brain, and deep, heavy sobs erupt from my gut. The willpower, which usually keeps my demons hidden and my confidence at the surface, vanishes, and I fail to pull myself from the floor.

My sobs remind me of those on February 29. I had waited for my mother to comfort me, to save me, but she never did.

Your mother offered you as a bargaining chip.

The cries and muffled screams on the night he created my worst scar.

I couldn’t handle your small voice.

My sobs when I returned from Tillerman’s office, and the pain they caused.

Ultimately, I did you a favor.

I feel his presence, but it takes me a moment to realize that Tom is beside me. I straighten my torso so that I’m kneeling, but my stomach spasms and abdominal muscles clench. I groan from the pain, and when I look at him, I immediately turn away. I’m too embarrassed to make eye contact, too weak to stand.

When I fall again, my forehead lands on his knee, and after a hesitation, his warm hands press gently against my shoulder blades. My sobbing intensifies, and I inhale short, quick breaths to supplement the gaps in breathing. Muscle spasms ripple throughout my torso and my limp legs quiver.

My hands are fists and there’s renewed pain from the friction burn as my nails dig into the broken skin. I stretch my fingers, now limp and numb. I wait for my emotions to numb too, but they don’t.

Jumping. Stabbing. Running.

I think of Alex, but push her out of my mind, inundated with thoughts of my own childhood. Rapid, terrifying, nonsensical images fire across my eyes, and, lightheaded, I realize that I’m hyperventilating.

Tom presses his hands firmly against my back. His voice is quiet, but stern. "Ra'Shelle, take a real breath. Slow and deep."

I follow his instructions, but it doesn’t slow the images, and my eyes hurt from being clenched shut. Just as suddenly as I had fallen, my muscles relax and his knee and the floor absorb my entire weight. My crying and breathing slow, and I push the images away.

I just need to find a way to pull myself together. Come on.

I search my mind for something to bring me back; it’s Colin's voice. Just you and me. You and me. No one else exists.

Although the spasms continue, I place my injured hands on the floor and push myself back to a sitting position. I wipe my face with the back of my hands.

Tom walks over to the bookcase, removes a small cardboard box, and brings it over. "Give me your hands."

I sniffle and try to calm my stomach muscles, which continue to spasm and twitch. I place my hands in front of me, seeing the deep scrapes and droplets of blood.

"I have three children,” Tom says. “If you think I don't have makeshift first aid kits in every office, car, and room, you're crazy." He smiles slightly and looks at my eyes, which are staring at my hands.

My hands shake as he wipes them with antibiotic ointment and bandages them with gauze and tape. "Think you can walk enough that I can drive you home?" he whispers.

I nod, but when I attempt to stand, I lose my balance.

He wraps my arm over his shoulders and holds my limp fingers. "I’m here. Let's go."

***

In the car, I stare out the window and watch the telephone poles zip past me. Like life.

"What happened at the quad?" he asks softly.

"Hmm? What?"

"What happened with Pete at the quad?"

"I didn't go to the quad. I went to the lawyer's office."

"That's how you ended up with that letter or note or whatever it was?"

"Yeah. He left it in his will."

"Who?"

"Pete's father. Lassio."

"He must have had a lot to say."

"He really shouldn't have said anything."

He glances at me before turning back at the road.

"Actually,” I say, “I need to make a stop if that's okay."

"Of course. Where?"

"A couple of blocks from here. Lorez, Kynder, and Lowell."

"You want me to come in."

"It's probably best if you’re not involved."

"I don't like that answer," he says.

I sigh. "Yeah, well, così è la vita."

"I really should have you on the phone with vendors more often."

"Usami come vuoi tu."

He glances at me again. "I would never be that guy. You know that."

I exhale loudly. "I know."

He turns into the parking lot. "I'll be here."

"This won't take long."

I step out of the car and into the building. Without waiting for permission, I walk into Lorez's office.

He’s on the phone and turns around to look at me. "Listen, Roy, I need to call you back."

He stands. "Ms. Dawson, have a seat. What happened to your hands?"

"Cut the crap, Lorez. I don't need the niceties. I read the letter, and I made my decision. I don't want anything. I don't want to sell it. I don't want to involve a bank. Pete can have whatever he wants, and then you can torch the rest for all I care."

Lorez sits down. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

He opens a desk drawer and removes a file folder. He opens it and sorts through papers. "Sign here to give it all to Pete."

I take a pen from his desk and scribble my signature. "That it?"

"No. I have something else for you." He hands me a stapled group of papers. “Pete doesn't know about this."

I take it from him. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a savings account in your name. Your father set it up when you were born. Peter and I helped him.”

“Were you not going to give me this?!”

“I was… When the time was right; I think that time is now.”

“What do you mean the two of you ‘helped’ him?” I ask.

“We knew each other, Ra'Shelle. The three of us were, well, not friends exactly, but definitely more than acquaintances.”

“You were friends with my father?”

He nods. “Most of his life.”

I narrow my eyes. “How is your daughter?”

Lorez stiffens. “I don’t have a daughter.”

“Really? Kristi Cooper? That name isn’t familiar?”

“I don’t have a daughter,” he says, gritting his teeth.

“You wanted to deny her so badly that you wouldn’t even let Debbie invite her over. You and Lassio were in some twisted business relationship, and you didn’t want him acknowledging Kristi’s existence. I’m guessing you threatened him since you knew all of his dirt anyway, and that’s when he forbade Debbie from inviting her over. Pete didn’t make that connection, but he has less information in general, doesn’t he?”

I place the papers in my purse and shake my head. “You know, when Pete told me you were her father, it started coming back to me. You are far more involved in our lives than even Pete knows, and I’ll figure it out eventually.”

He rests his fists on the desk. “It’s bigger than you, Ra'Shelle. You have no idea what you would uncover. Peter’s dead, both of your parents are dead, and you can live a good life if you’ll just walk away from this. Let it die.”

“Interesting choice of words.” Thinking of Lassio's letter, I straighten my posture and stare at him, unblinking. "If you don't already lose sleep over what you allowed to happen, let seeing me be the catalyst for your insomnia."

I turn on my heel and walk out of the office.

Digging through my purse, I find another quarter and the paper with Pete's numbers. I walk to the payphone and call the hotel. "Room 304, please."

After two rings, Pete answers. "Yeah."

"I signed it all over to you."

"Ra'Shelle?"

"I told you I didn't want anything, and I don't."

"Did you read the letter?"

"It’s a non-apology about how he actually did me a favor. There’s nothing in it worth reading."

"So, that's it?"

"Yeah, that's it. Can we go back to forgetting the other exists?"

"I really hope so. Never see you, Ra'Shelle."

"Bye, Pete." I hang up the phone, pick it up, slam it down three more times, and take a deep breath. I turn to find Tom's car close to the curb.

I groan before pulling the handle. "Okay. You can take me home now."