Page 94 of Painting Her Fate

The look Lili gave me before she screamed for me to get out, I’m never going to forget it; it’s etched there for all eternity. That look was the same look Ford gave me years ago, when I went to pick him up in Texas. The look of torment, wanting help but not being strong enough to let anyone know their problems. Being too stubborn to accept the handout.

I’m just as guilty most days.

“The fuck you’re,fine.” He scoffs then stands and leans against the side of the desk. I glance up and find recognition in his countenance, “You’re worried about her.” He confirms, his tone full of accusation, “what the hell did you do now?”

“I fucked up royally. That’s what.”

He shook his head, *Tsking* “When will you get it through your head, Corporal? Not supposed to fuck up.” Ford sighs, scratching at his beard, “You know I’m no good at love, but you need to give her a few days.” He shrugs, “Whatever it is, it will blow over once you grovel for a time, then you’ll be havin’ hot as fuck make-up sex.”

I give him a ghost of a smile, “thanks for your words of wisdom, doctor love.” I mock him and rake a hand through my hair. Maybe Ford is right. I should give her at least a day or two. It will give me time to clear my head, put all the focus back on my bar, and maybe for once, on myself.

“Anytime, boss.” The bastard then proceeds to croon a Southern rendition of KISS’sCalling Dr. Love.

Always the comedian this one. I instantly regret calling him that name, I really do. This behemoth will have this song stuck in my head all damn day. Then again, could be worse. I knew I kept him around for something.

I rap my knuckles twice on the desktop, “alright Gene Simmons, let’s go see if there is any hope left for that cooler.”

Later that afternoon, we determined there was nothing left of the ancient piece of crap to salvage, and everything I found for sale on the web is way out of my budget. At this point I will take whatever I can get as long as it functions.

Wouldn’t you know, the damnedest thing happened; I received a call from an unknown number, claiming to be part of a foundation that supplies veterans of small businesses with specialty grants, funding, and no interest loan options.

“You got an angel lookin' out for you, boss. The deadline is tomorrow on that one. Better get on it.” Ford says, pointing to the computer screen. An angel is a good way to put it, and timing couldn’t be better. I would be able to actually relax a bit and make a few necessary updates to the place.

“Let’s move everything we can to the server station cooler. We will just have to fight with space for a little while until we can get a replacement.” I direct Ford, hitting, submit on the first application.

I’m not one for handouts; it was instilled in us as kids to work for your paycheck, to give to others less fortunate rather than receive. If Ford wasn’t here giving me the courage, I needed to finalize these applications, there is no way I would have ever thought to do this.

It’s not I’m going to get it; I bet thousands apply for these things. My chances are slim to none.

When leaving Lili's last night, I left the list on her counter of everything needing repaired. Kind of ironic how it happens to be the following day I received this phone call. Could Lili's foundation be part of the veteran’s services, too? It makes sense, given her father is a vet. I think back to dinner at my parent’s house and remember her mentioning children in her foundation.

It’s probably just a coincidence.

“The kitchen crew can make it work. Best let Maddie know. She might throw a fit if not told about it.” Ford mentions, his mood matching my happier tune. Much better than how we were this morning with that damned cooler. I don’t think I’ve heard Ford cuss like that since our last deployment.Oh, the memories. We ultimately put the nail in the coffin on the piece of shit. Good riddance.

I hit submit on the second application and ask Ford for a fist-bump. It be outstanding to receive even just one of these grants. I crush any self-doubt and stay positive for once. Something good has to finally break this miserable cycle.

“I’ll fill her in now.” I stand and stretch my back, needing to take a break from the screen and pile of papers clogging my desk.

Ford eyes me, leaning in to whisper, “fair warnin’, Maddie is in her, ‘I’m too cheery’ mood. I hope everythin’ okay with her momma. She’s been keepin’ it pretty hush.”

Shit. That isn’t a good sign. Maddie’s mom Charlotte has battled an aggressive form of lung cancer since the turn of the New Year, now going on month four. This fierce fighter is a true warrior and has no plans to give in, at least that’s how it was the last time I spoke to her. She is just one of the many reasons my music earnings go straight to the cancer center. I don’t want the money; it does better this way. “Mattie mentioned something about a new clinical trial that could benefit.”

Lottie was given a twenty-six percent chance at survival, but no way is that going to keep her down. She’s going to beat this.

His face falls and loses some coloring,“Mierda (shit).” He growls, looking to the heavens and murmuring a snippet of a Spanish prayer. Once done it’s like a flip of a switch and he’s back to his joyful nature, “now, I need to get to fuckin’ work. Someone needs to actually do their job around here.”

Shaking my head, I make a mental note to check in with Mattie, see if there is anything I can do for the family, even if it’s taking the boys for a day. I’m who they call their funcle; we have a blast together, eat pizza and play all day at the arcade, laser tag, or their favorite, bowling. A seven- and eleven-year-old showing me up is just sad; they laugh at me and tell me I need the bumpers to break a one hundred.

Hey, moms need a bit of rest and recoup too, especially Mattie. This single mom has a lot on her plate. If she needs time off, sure, it’s going to suck not having her here, she’s the backbone of this place, but family comes first.Always.

With a slap to my shoulder, we kick it into gear, ready for whatever this night might bring our way.

Once home, I take one good look at Hank and hit with his mopey stare.

He doesn’t even greet me when I enter; he’s withdrawn. Can dogs get depressed? Because I swear, ever since I dragged him out of Lili's place, he’s been like this. I feed him which seems to make him happy for a few minutes, the small amount he does eat, then he goes and lays underneath the coffee table, grumbling and whining.

I’ve barely been home these past few nights, instead having stayed at Lili's.The thought of her sitting on her floor last night, the vicious glare she gave me came rushing right back. I groan, close my eyes, and pinch my nose; I was the idiot to push her. I knew she would shut down, but I did it anyway because I had to know.Now you have lost her, way to go. You pushed her away. She isn’t coming back.

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