Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I’m back in a town I never thought I’d step into again out of some fucked-up obligation to a man who I haven’t had a single thought about in years.
“Ignacio,” the pretty nurse whispers, and her tone says it all.
Even if the doctor hadn’t explained to me the dire situation, I’d know from her response that there is no waking up for Mateo Costa. The stroke, according to the last doctor that I spoke with, ranked a thirty-nine on the scale they use to determine severity, and with forty-two being the highest the scale goes, the doctor wasn’t hopeful at all that my grandfather would survive, much less recover. As the days dragged on, that sliver of hope has faded into just waiting for the inevitable.
I look back up at her, emotionless but trying not to look annoyed or bitter for the imposition he’s once again forced me into.
“And if he dies while I’m gone?”
“Then it’s his time.” Her lips form a straight line, and I’m grateful she doesn’t try to smile to lessen the blow.
There is no blow. There is no conversation I wish I’d had with him or last words of apology. There are no regrets or things that have been weighing me down where he’s concerned. And as much as it may make other people feel uncomfortable, there’s also no pain or heartache at seeing him lying there helpless and dying. I’m not numb to the thought of losing my only blood-related family because that would mean I’m hiding some emotion I don’t feel like I can deal with.
I just don’t care.
My family, my brothers, are back in St. Louis. The men at Blackbridge Security are all I’ll ever need. They’re the family I choose rather than the people I was saddled with at birth, and if there was a choice between the two, the decision would be the easiest one I’d ever have to make.
“You’ll call me?” I ask.
“We will,” she assures me, standing her ground beside the bed until I gather my things and walk out of the room.
***
I left my grandfather’s room yesterday with the intent to get a couple of hours of sleep, a shower, and something to eat before returning, but the fresh air on my face devoid of the antiseptic smell of the hospital made it impossible to return.
As I climb into my truck after a horrible night’s sleep in the dilapidated house I grew up in, I realize I may never return. It’s not like Mateo Costa knew I was there in the first place, and if he did, he’d probably spit some built-up venom my way and demand I leave. The way I see it, I’m giving him exactly what he’d want, and that thought alone makes me reevaluate my desire to never go back. Although sticking it to the man on his deathbed is what he deserves, my own mental health will more than likely keep me away.
According to the doctor, it’s merely a waiting game for his body to fully succumb to the injuries of his stroke. I’ll have a laundry list of things to do before putting this damn town behind me for good, so going back home, only to be forced to turn around again to take care of things, is pointless.
The drive across town is spent looking at familiar places, all worse for wear in the decade plus since I left all of this behind me. The faces of the homeless men and women on the corners and outside the tiny run-down stores have changed, but that’s about it. Hurricanes, poverty, and hopelessness have increased the numbers of those forced out to beg for help, and although it makes me lucky to have escaped, I can’t help the twinge of guilt I feel for not returning and helping those in the community I left behind so easily. I’m not a millionaire. It’s not like I could’ve made that much of a difference, but guilt still swims in my gut as I drive by my old stomping grounds — the gas station I used to sell drugs at, the check cashing place I had a gun pointed at my head when I tried to rob it.
There are places in town I refuse to go. I’ll drive hours out of the way in an effort not to see the park or the house I dropped Tinley off that night.
Fuck. Just being back makes memories I’ve stuffed down threaten to reappear. Thirteen years is a long time to hold on to things from the past, but I’ve managed this long. Once things are settled here, I’ll never have to revisit that pain and regret ever again.
I sigh as I pull into the parking lot at the middle school, angling my head to read the unintelligible graffiti on the side of the building. Gangs were bad when I called this town home, but they had never been brazen enough to tag the side of the school. It only proves that escaping was the best thing I could’ve ever done. Staying here was a death sentence. There’s one man from my past that made my life miserable, and it’s the very man struggling for breath in a hospital bed across town.