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Half an hour later, the frantic rate had soothed his itchy soul and he coasted until he reached the proper pace, deciding he’d tempted fate enough. He’d been stopped for speeding once since he’d got out and had been put through the ringer before he was allowed on his way. He was in no mood to be polite to cops tonight.
Maybe it was that memory that sparked his next reckless impulse. Pulling a U-turn, he returned to the city and steered toward the rundown neighbourhood where he’d grown up. The late setting sun bathed the battered duplexes and ratty apartment buildings in oranges and pinks, highlighting their seedy appearance. A shudder rippled across his skin as the turmoil and frustration he’d experienced living there resurfaced with frightening ease.
He cruised past the last house his mother had rented. Weeds infested the yard, springing up undaunted between the deep ruts cut by the tires of the cars parked on it. The siding was peeled and warped, and a corner-to-corner crack in the front window was duct taped from the inside in a pathetic attempt at repair. He doubted it had looked much different when she’d occupied it. His mother had moved frequently from the time he was a child, but never to somewhere neat or safe or well-tended.
A compulsion he didn’t want to examine drove him toward a low building with no windows and a heavy metal door. He pulled into the paved but potholed parking lot and rolled to a stop. A flickering neon sign declared The Liquor Box was open, though there were only two other vehicles in sight.
For several long minutes, he remained seated on his bike, feet planted on either side. Then, with a sense of inevitable doom, he dismounted and made his way into the bar that had witnessed the worst night of his life.
THE LARGE DINING TABLE in Penta’s childhood home had chairs for eight. The two empty seats nagged her even as the bickering of her kids and the laughter of her father filled the room. Her mother’s place was a bittersweet sorrow. But the one she’d reserved for Cash annoyed her.
She didn’t know what she had to do to convince him he was a part of her family now. No matter what happened in the future, she hoped they’d remain friends. He didn’t have to be alone anymore.
Even if he seemed to prefer it that way.
“Only one more year of university, hey, Felix?” Her father had picked up fried chicken tonight and he ladled gravy over his fries with a lavish hand. “Signed up for any interesting courses?”
Cyril ate with the single-minded intensity of a teenage boy. Abra and Delilah quarreled half-heartedly over who spent the most time in their shared bathroom. Penta focused on Felix.
He flicked an uneasy glance between his grandfather and his mother. “No, not yet.”
Her back straightened in faint alarm. “What does that mean, not yet?”
He dragged the tines of his fork through the puddle of ketchup on his plate. “I’ve been offered a supervisor job.”
“Good for you!” Pride didn’t subdue the warning signals her radar was flashing. “But what does that have to do with school?”
“It’s full-time. I can’t keep up my course load and take the promotion.”
Her father squinted. “You’re not going back to school?”
“Of course he’s going back.” Penta’s response was automatic. “Maybe they can adjust the job for you, make allowances for your classes.”
“Maybe. But I didn’t ask.” Felix’s chin rose and he finally met her gaze. “I don’t want to go back to university. I’ve already accepted the promotion.”
“Well, unaccept it,” she snapped. If only he’d talked to her first. She could have explained how she regretted not finishing her own degree so many years ago, stopped him from making the same mistake. “You can’t quit now. You’ll have wasted the last three years. How stupid can you be?”
The last words fell like ice shards into a ringing silence. Five pairs of eyes stared at her as if she’d grown horns. Aghast, she tried to backtrack. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just—”
Felix regarded her with a sober expression. “It’s my life, Mom. My decision. I start training on Monday. That’s one of the reasons I can’t go to Mexico with Dad. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but I’m not going back to school in September.” Without giving her a chance to reply and with an air that declared he considered the subject closed, he turned to her father. “What do you think of the Jays chances at the pennant this year, Grampa?”
Jeremy shot her a quick sympathetic look before answering.
Penta could do nothing but sit, floundering in shock. She wanted to demand they discuss it further, wanted a chance to change his mind. Felix gave her no opportunity, ignoring her burning glares and moving the conversation along with mature determination. How could he be so calm when he was rejecting the plan they’d designed together? He’d been her rock since the divorce. Had she pushed him too hard? Was she the reason he was making this terrible mistake?
CASH HADN’T BEEN BACK to The Liquor Box at any time in the twelve years since his release. Hadn’t expected he’d ever come back.
Wasn’t sure why he had tonight.
The walls were a little dingier, the floor a little stickier, but the same cracked black vinyl stools ranged in front of the bar and the same hard metal chairs ringed wooden tables. Classic rock thundered from invisible speakers, pierced occasionally by raucous laughter and shouted expletives from the sparse Thursday evening crowd. Friday and Saturday had always been busier, when clean cut youths who lived outside the neighbourhood came looking for trouble, seeking to prove they were tough, not just privileged.
Men like the one who’d picked a fight with Cash all those years ago. His gaze shied away from the corner of the bar—that corner—remembering the dull clunk of skull hitting wood, the limp limbs slithering to the floor between one heartbeat and the next.
The bartender wasn’t anyone he recognized—a hard, weary woman in a thin pink tank top and tight jeans. She looked forty and was probably not yet thirty. He ordered a bottle of beer—only idiots asked for a draft here—and when it came took a small wary sip.
“And who the fuck is this?” A vigorous slap on his shoulder shoved him forward, knocking his tooth against the bottle.
He twisted swiftly, planting his feet on the boot rung of the stool, ready to launch himself into action—then juddered to a halt.
