“So, then, it was only a matter of time before Julian would snatch the rug from under your feet? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” I ask.
Dad nods once, but the fury in his eyes has melted into tears. He’s looking at me and his lip trembles. “I’m just so sorry thathe took it out on you,” he says, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “That bastard doesn’t deserve to so much as look at you.”
I press my cheek into his palm and let the tears flow, tears which I’ve kept locked away for so long. I needed my daddy, and I locked him out.
“The problem, Mr. Willis, is this—he gave her a five o’clock deadline to agree to his terms. If she doesn’t, he’s going to take action. That’s all we know—we don’t know what sort of action he’s thinking of.”
“What did he say specifically?” Dad asks.
“He said you’ll lose everything,” I tell him.
Silence falls over the table for a long moment, broken only by the click of the little clock in the kitchen. It’s like we’re all holding our breath. I spoke the horrible secret out loud and the world didn’t end—but it’s not over. Not even close. There’s a sense of impending doom, like a giant shoe coming down and us three stupid little ants with nowhere to run.
“Have you had any therapy?” Dad asks.
I shake my head. “Kind of figured that would be a dead giveaway, and wouldn’t do me any good anyway, since it would still be telling. Guess that ship’s sailed.”
He nods. “How ‘bout you, Rhue?”
Rhue furrows his brow. “Me? What do I need therapy for?”
Dad gives me a knowing look and I smother a smile. Rhue looks back and forth between us.
“Losing a parent so young—and so violently—is traumatic,” Dad says. “Not to mention being raised by that bastard. Not telling you what to do—but you might look into it.”
“Violently?” I ask. “Dad. Roxanne…you said you were friends. Good friends, even. Did she seem like the kind of person who would commit suicide?”
“Completely out of character,” Dad says, unequivocally. “He must have pushed her beyond some pretty crazy limits forRoxanne to do that to herself.” He looks at Rhue, who looks pained. “Sorry, son.”
“My sister still doesn’t think she did,” Rhue confesses quietly. “She thinks—”
Dad’s phone rings shrilly, interrupting Rhue. My heart jumps into my throat and I check the time. One minute after five. Punctual bastard.
“Hello? Hey, Julian, what’s up? Oh, don’t worry about that, I’m not busy. Hm? Ah. Sold it, huh. Yeah, I think it’s a great space for a dojo. How long? Two weeks. That’s a little—mm. Yes, technically that is the end of the lease—no, I understand. These things happen. Too good a deal to pass up, right? Yeah. Well, that’s quite the profit, what are you gonna do with all that cash? Residential investments. I see. Rentals, or—ha! Townhouses. What a surprise. The whole row, huh? Well, good luck with that. Some of those owners can be pretty stubborn.” Dad’s eyes are hard and flinty. I usually can’t picture him getting violent—but right now, I absolutely can.
“Yep, I hear you, I hear you. Right. Two weeks, yep. Uh-huh. See you then, Julian.” Dad hangs up the phone and places it very carefully on the table, as if he’s afraid to lose control and smash the damn thing.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Well, he apologized for calling on a Saturday evening, but said he had reached a decision, that it wouldn’t be fair to hold off on it till Monday,” Dad replies, pursing his lips. “He’s selling the avenue building. They’ve already drawn up papers. I have two weeks to empty the store and find somewhere else to run my business. The store, the workshop, the office, everything. Everything must go. Oh—and he’s using the profits to buy up a row of townhouses.” He gestures to our four walls, two of which are connected to our neighbors. We own our home—but if dad loses his business, debt will eat him alive. He’ll be forced to sell.
It’s a train wreck in slow motion, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.
This is Julian. This is what he does. He’s a spiteful, vengeful motherfucker. He went for the killing blow right out of the gate. All jugular, no foreplay. I don’t think we have any way of recovering from this. Dad can’t turn much of a profit if he pays today’s rent rates in an equally accessible space downtown. Fuck.
“Mr. Willis, I don’t want you to worry about that,” Rhue says. I don’t even have time to process the blow that Julian just delivered. “I’ve got some central properties purchased with the trust fund that my mother left for me upon her death. I know of at least two that will suit your business perfectly, and I will gladly have my lawyer draw up a new lease agreement, effective as of Monday. I’ll charge you the same rate you were paying my father. No deposit necessary, and no rent till the first.”
“Whoa,” I hear myself murmur.
Dad is speechless. Blank white. A mere sheet of paper cut out to resemble a human. “Say what, now?” he manages.
“Look,” Rhue says. “My dad’s an asshole. You’ve been one of his most loyal residents, and him kicking you out like this is spiteful and woefully unprofessional. As it happens, I can help you out. Given everything he’s already put you both through, it’s the least I can do.”
“Rhue—” his throat gets tight and he gets up and walks around the table. Rhue stands up and they shake hands, then Dad pulls him into a strong hug. Tears trickle down his face. “Thanks, man.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Rhue says. “I haven’t figured out what to do about the townhouse situation.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Dad says, laughing through his tears. “If I can keep my business, I can keep my house.”