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Beau’s question had literally and figuratively knocked me right on my butt. In fairness, I was twisted up under a cubbyhole trying to retrieve a paintbrush when he asked his question, sending me tipping over onto the gleaming wood floors. “It’s where are they honey, and they are where they live. In New York.” This wasn’t the first time he’d ever asked about my parents or his father but somehow, he still caught me by surprise. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Just wondering. Sylvester is spending the weekend with his grandparents.”
I knew the time would come eventually when Beau wanted to know more about his family, but I always assumed it would be questions about his father. Those questions didn’t have many answers but these did. “You know your mom is a bit weird right?”
He giggled and nodded his head, blue eyes lit with amusement. “Yeah but a good weird.”
“Thanks, but your grandma and grandpa didn’t think so. They wanted me to be one way and I just didn’t fit. Eventually we all just thought it would be better if we lived separately.” That was the redacted, PG version of what happened, but in a nutshell, it was the truth.
“So I won’t ever get to see them?”
And there was the rub. I couldn’t keep Beau from them if he wanted to meet them, but I was terrified that my father would reject my little boy the same way he’d rejected me. “I wouldn’t say never, but I haven’t spoken to them since before you were born.” Not for lack of trying on my part.
“Okay, Mom. But you’ll try?”
“For you, I will do more than try, Beau.” It was a promise I’d made while Beau was still in the womb, and I had no plans to break it.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Got it!” I held up the paintbrush triumphantly and Beau clapped.
His eyes went wide, though, and he looked past me through the newly replaced front window and my blood ran cold. The sounds of someone trying to open the locked door drew my attention and I turned around.
“Go to the back, Beau.”
“But, Mom I’m not—”
“Now, Beau. We’ll finish up later.” He nodded and hurried to the back, giving me a moment to collect myself before I went to the door.
“Can I help you?” It wasn’t very professional of me to ask through the unopened door. But I didn’t know this man and through the glass I saw he was a white guy with white-blond cornrows and a vest that looked similar to Cross’s. Only not.
“Yeah, you can open the door lady.” He pulled on the door again, impatient now.
“I will. Tomorrow when the shop opens.”
His icy eyes seared through me, somehow hot and angry. “I need to get in now.”
“Why?”
“Because I do lady, now open the goddamn door!” He began to kick the glass with his boot, soft at first but it grew harder and harder just to show me he could.
“One second,” I told him calmly and walked over the counter where the cash register sat, unused for days, and grabbed the handgun I kept there. I’d never had occasion to use it because, despite its name, Mayhem was a pretty quiet place to live. If you didn’t count the odd drive-by shooting. I returned with the gun in my hand but hidden behind my long, bright skirt.
“What’s your name?”
“Craig,” he shouted, finally no longer kicking my door.
“Craig what?”
He glared but I glared back, knowing I had the upper hand. I hadn’t been to the gun range in more than a year but this was a stand your ground state and I was only two feet from the door.
“Well?”
“Craig Jefferson.”
“And what do you want, Craig Jefferson?”
“I want you to open the fucking door before I kick it in.”
