Page 42 of Parrish

“Where was he all this time?”

“With some dancer, a real fucking ballerina. Apparently, she was performing the night he was shot. Joaquin moved them to Canada while the heat of the shooting played out.”

Looks like Victor’s nephew is finally learning the ropes of the business.

“It’s not my place to tell you how to run the club, but it would be good for you to keep Rocco in your pocket. With me in the can, some of Yankovich and Cain’s enemies might think the club is weak and try to take advantage.”

“We worked it out,” Wolf says. “We both have a lot of work ahead of us and realized we’re more powerful together than at opposite corners of the same street if you know what I mean.”

With a nod, I draw in a breath.

“So, if you didn’t want to make a pit stop at Rocco’s where are we headed?”

My eyes dart towards the street and I’m transcended back in time, to the day my son died in my arms. It doesn’t matter how many years go by, any time I let myself think back to the day Junior died, the memories are vivid, and it feels as if I’m reliving those dreadful moments. The tires screech against the asphalt and Lacey’s cries are just as desperate as they were when she was five years old begging me to save her baby brother.

“I have to say goodbye to my son,” I rasp, tearing my eyes away from the asphalt. Without a word, Wolf nods in understanding and we start for the stairs, making our way towards our bikes.

As I throw my leg over my Harley, I glance up at the house and spot Reina in the window. I swallow against the lump in my throat and fix my helmet to my head. Expertly, I wrap my hands around the handlebars and tip my chin.

You.

“Always you,” I whisper over the engine. Hoping she’ll respond, I keep my eyes trained on her lips but she moves away from the window. My fists close tightly around the levers and I throttle the engine with a vengeance.

Backing out of the driveway, I pull my bike onto the street and come to a complete stop in the exact spot where my son Junior died. I make the sign of the cross and divert my gaze to the asphalt. In my twisted head, I expect to see my boy lying helpless in the gutter. Instead, I stare at a dead crow. Its blood splatters the street just as Junior’s did all those years ago. I wonder if it’s a sign from my son or an illusion manufactured by my illness. Praying it’s the latter, I tear my eyes away from the mangled bird. That crow has been with me for years. I don’t know if I’ve followed it or if it’s followed me, but I always believed it was Junior. As crazy as that sounds I believed it was his way of letting me know he was still rooted to his old man while he flew high with the angels.

Now my birdie was gone, and I couldn’t help but feel as if I was losing Junior all over again.

You’re not losing your son.

You’re losing your mind.

Something snaps inside of me and I lose control as I often do, taking my frustrations out on my tires. I rev the engine and gun it, leaving the dead bird, my wife, and my son behind. My club follows closely, letting me lead them one final time and we ride through the streets of Bensonhurst to Fort Hamilton where my boy’s grave resides.

We travel wide and roll through the gates of Green-wood Cemetery where many we’ve loved and lost now rest. If this was a normal visit, we’d make our rounds, stopping to pay our respects to Blackie and Pipe’s first wives but there’s no time for that today.

When we finally arrive at the section where Junior is buried the guys park and kill their engines. Instead of following me like they usually do, Wolf instructs them to give me a minute alone and I trek up the lush green hills to the spot next to the willow tree where Junior’s tombstone rests. The flowers I brought the last time are gone but the Yankee cap remains affixed to the stone. In a couple of months, Reina and Lacey will pay him a visit and they’ll decorate his grave for Christmas just as they always do, laying a pine blanket in front of the stone. It’ll be decorated with red bows and ornaments and the card attached will say ‘Merry Christmas in Heaven.’

Crouching down, I run my fingers over his name and try to find my voice. I never got a chance to say goodbye to him and it’s always bothered me. There have been times I’ve stayed awake at night with a blank sheet of a paper in front of me and a pen in my hand trying to jot down all the things I wish I would’ve told him when he was living but half the things were never suited for a two-year-old boy and all it did was make me painfully aware of how I cheated my son out of living a full life.

Any parent will tell you there is no greater torture than outliving your own child. Junior was only two years old when that car struck him. Two fucking years old. The kid wasn’t even potty trained and seeing as he was a little delayed in speech, his mother never got to hear her son tell her he loved her. He never got to really appreciate Christmas or the magic of Santa Claus either. Nor did he get the chance to ride a bike or throw a ball. He was robbed of so much and all because of me.

I bet you won’t hear many parents say they’re responsible for the death of their child. It takes a special motherfucker to tell you he couldn’t get a grip on his sanity and as a result his son never grew into a man.

“You’d be twenty-three if you were alive,” I begin. “And I often wonder what kind of man you’d be. You loved to play with blocks and so, I tell myself you probably would’ve been an architect, but it really wouldn’t matter what you decided as a profession. I would give anything to see you be a man for just one minute.”

I pause and suck in a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Junior. I’m sorry for so many things but most of all, I’m sorry I wasn’t the father you deserved. The only thing I can do is be better for your sister and brother and the only way to do that is to eliminate myself from their lives.”

“I was spiraling out of control when you died. I was undiagnosed and unmedicated. I was out of my fucking mind and history seems to have a knack for repeating itself. Before Lacey, Danny or Reina suffer the same fate at my hand, I need to go. I’m turning myself in, Junior and handing my life over to the law,” I say hoarsely. The words leave a foul taste in my mouth and sound a whole lot like fucking defeat, something I never wanted any of my kids, dead or alive, to hear come from my lips.

Before I can continue, my phone rings inside my pocket and I quickly reach to silent it. I glance at the screen to make sure it isn’t Reina or Lacey. Not recognizing the number, I shove the phone back in my pocket.

“Anyway, I wanted to come say goodbye. I won’t be able to visit you for a long while, but I’ll always carry a piece of you in my heart, son.”

I want to tell him I’ll be with him soon, that we’ll be reunited in God’s kingdom but that would only be a lie. I’m going south when I leave this world, but my beautiful boy, he’ll continue to soar with the angels.

Rising to my full height, I bring my fingertips to my lips and press them against the cold stone.

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