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"Everything you do reflects back on us, on the Dexter legacy! You remember that next time you meet with her. You couldn’t have picked a more secluded location, and you still made the front page. Haven’t you heard of smartphones?"
I thought we were done here . . . I thought he was leaving. How did an argument that had burnt out rage back on again as if it never stopped.
My mind drifts as I watch venom spew out of my father’s mouth, accompanied by spit, and wonder . . .why am I willing to torch every bridge with my family just to have a conversation with Tony. Why not Dick, the lawyer, or Jenny, or Lola . . . Why Tony—why her particularly? Is it an internal crisis gnawing at my conscience, or is there something more to my relentless pursuit—a conflicting emotion; an unacknowledged emotion?
I’m at a crossroads between redemption and ruin, and I have no idea what’s fueling this insanity.
Chapter eleven
THE WAR OF THE RICARDOS.
TONY
Any minute now, I know the brigade will descend upon me, fire blazing out of their mouths, smoke blowing out of their ears, and claws sharp as daggers carefully aimed at my soul will be bared in fury. My siblings are coming, and they are not happy with me.
I carefully lift the edge of the bandage covering the wound on Mom’s thigh. The skin around it is an angry red, and I can see where it tore when she was moved from the commode to the bed last night. The daytime aide, Anjelica, hands me a pair of gloves, and I slip them on before reaching for the saline solution.
"Ready?" I ask softly, and Mom nods, her face pale. I dampen a sterile gauze pad with the solution and gently dab at the wound, cleaning away any debris and caked blood.
“That looks bad,” Anjelica whispers, not to scare Mom. I mouth my response, telling her not to worry. She is such a sweetheart. Of all the aides the hospital is sending to help with Mom’s care, she is my favorite.
Halfway through bandaging Mom’s wound, the front door slams, and Jenny bursts into the day room (where my Mom stays during the day), her eyes blazing. "Tony, what the hell were you thinking?"
"Can this wait?" I snap, my focus on what I am doing. "I'm in the middle of something important here, in case you haven’t noticed. A hello to mother would be okay, though, if you have one of those for her."
“Tony—”
“Hello, child,” Mom says, over whatever was on Jenny’s lips, but before Jenny can answer, Lola enters the room, followed closely by Dick. All three of them are furious, waving the newspaper that features Liam and me at the restaurant.
“Ahhh. The hangmen are all here. As you can see, I am taking care of our mother. I suggest we all calm down and visit with Mom, and you can hang me up later.”
“Oh, Tony. What did you do?” Mom asks in a feeble voice.
“I played in the sandbox with a bad boy, Mother and all my darling siblings are here to punish me for it.Why can’t they leave me alone?”
“And you believe I know now more than I knew before I asked you the question?”
“No, Mom, but I don’t want you to worry. I broke something, and I will fix it.”
“Very soon, I won’t be here. I don’t want to spend my last days worrying about my children. You only have each other; I’d like to think that you will all be alright once I’m gone.”
“We will be fine, mama. This is just a small hiccup. I will explain myself and apologize, then all will be well. You’ll see,” I say, dropping a kiss on Mama’s head before collecting my wound care supplies.
I live here with mom all the time. I give my siblings some quality time with her as I walk to the kitchen to start dinner. Itwill be nice for all five of us to have dinner together as a family. There won’t be too many of those soon. These are times for creating memories, not fighting.
9:15 PM, dinner done, kitchen clean, mom in bed. Time for the elephant in the room to be dissected. I gave Mom my word that I would fix this, and that is what I intend to do.
“Okay, guys. I’m ready. Let me have it.”
"Tony, I told you never to meet with Liam alone," Dick starts, his voice annoyed, low, and dangerous.
"Look, I didn't invite him," I argue, feeling defensive. "And I wasn’t exactly chummy with him either," I gesture towards the photo of Liam cleaning off the gazpacho stain off his shirt.
"It doesn't matter!" Lola cries. "You're all over the papers, meeting with the man who killed our father! How do you think that looks? Perception is everything. People are talking."
Jenny enters the fray, her frustration boiling over, and she slams her hand on the table.
"Tony, your actions affect all of us. People are talking and saying all sorts of things. Whatever he wants with you, put a stop to this. You meeting with him, just because he said so . . . You are playing into his hands—you are playing his game. Think about someone else for a change. Think about what this does to us and our family."
