Read Online Desire & Ice: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) by Christopher Rice - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Rice
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over hers. She closed her eyes. But he couldn't tell if she was savoring his touch.
He hoped so.
God, he hoped so.
"Listen, I know I talk too damn much, but I need to tell you a story. It's partly a story about why I talk so damn much, but I wouldn't be telling it if I didn't think it would help." Don't tell her how to feel, he thought. Not right now. "If I didn't want it to help, I mean."
Eliza nodded, but she was staring at the empty desk. She adjusted her hand just enough so that she hooked one of his fingers in between her own.
"I'm the reason my father left when I was fourteen," he said. "Well, not really. I mean, I'm not the reason he was driving truckloads of drugs over the Canadian border for the del Fuego cartel. But I'm the reason my mother found out about it, and I'm the reason he ran. See, he had two cell phones. One for us and his job with Rawley Beamis. The other was for the del Fuegos. And one day, I saw the second phone and I said something to my mom about it. That was all.
"I had no idea what he was up to. I just thought it was strange that he had two phones, is all. And I thought it was something Mom should know. Like maybe there was another woman or something. Anyway, once I asked the question, Mom turned around and started asking him questions and that's when he ran. That's when he picked drug money over us."
He had her full attention now.
"So for a week I blamed myself. I was the reason he ran. If I'd just kept my big mouth shut, he'd still be at home. He'd still be her husband and he'd still be my dad. I mean, people had always told me I talked too much so it made perfect sense, didn't it? Danny's big mouth blows it yet again. So I just stopped talking altogether. I held my momma while she cried but I barely said anything cause it was me saying too much that had caused all this pain in the first place."
Eliza shook her head to protest.
Danny held up his free hand to stop her.
"Finally, Momma backed me to the wall and asked me why I was being so quiet. And I just exploded. I broke down into tears and told her everything I was feeling. How I thought I was responsible for it all. I told her I was never going to speak again. That I'd speak only when spoken to. That I'd stop asking so many questions and having opinions about stuff. I swore it up and down the living room while she listened to me cry. I must've swore it a dozen times.
"Then, once I'd managed to calm myself, she told me something I'll never forget. She said my father was a bad man and bad men use your goodness against you. They take what you do to help others and they use it for their own bad ends, and when they walk away, leaving you destroyed inside, they count on you feeling like your goodness was to blame. Like your goodness was just a weakness and you should have known better. What destroyed my family was that my father decided to run drugs for the del Fuego cartel. And when we found out the truth, he chose them over us. Period. End of story.
"And I don't know if you've noticed, but I never kept my pledge. I never stopped asking all sorts of questions and I never stopped having opinions and I never stopped trying to talk my way to the truth of the matter. Because my mother told me I couldn't. Because my mother told me I wasn't allowed to let my father break me like that. To let his crimes break me like that."
The story had earned him her full attention. But there wasn't pity in her eyes, thank God. Instead, she was regarding him as an equal, as someone who shared in her pain without lecturing her about it or dismissing it or trying to call it something other than what it was—pain. And only now did he realize she'd taken his hand in hers while he'd talked. Now her grip was firm.
"Good," she whispered.
"Yes, that's good, and what'll also be good is if you don't allow yourself to think for one moment that you were almost killed last night because you were too trusting or too helpful, or just too determined not to see anyone
He hoped so.
God, he hoped so.
"Listen, I know I talk too damn much, but I need to tell you a story. It's partly a story about why I talk so damn much, but I wouldn't be telling it if I didn't think it would help." Don't tell her how to feel, he thought. Not right now. "If I didn't want it to help, I mean."
Eliza nodded, but she was staring at the empty desk. She adjusted her hand just enough so that she hooked one of his fingers in between her own.
"I'm the reason my father left when I was fourteen," he said. "Well, not really. I mean, I'm not the reason he was driving truckloads of drugs over the Canadian border for the del Fuego cartel. But I'm the reason my mother found out about it, and I'm the reason he ran. See, he had two cell phones. One for us and his job with Rawley Beamis. The other was for the del Fuegos. And one day, I saw the second phone and I said something to my mom about it. That was all.
"I had no idea what he was up to. I just thought it was strange that he had two phones, is all. And I thought it was something Mom should know. Like maybe there was another woman or something. Anyway, once I asked the question, Mom turned around and started asking him questions and that's when he ran. That's when he picked drug money over us."
He had her full attention now.
"So for a week I blamed myself. I was the reason he ran. If I'd just kept my big mouth shut, he'd still be at home. He'd still be her husband and he'd still be my dad. I mean, people had always told me I talked too much so it made perfect sense, didn't it? Danny's big mouth blows it yet again. So I just stopped talking altogether. I held my momma while she cried but I barely said anything cause it was me saying too much that had caused all this pain in the first place."
Eliza shook her head to protest.
Danny held up his free hand to stop her.
"Finally, Momma backed me to the wall and asked me why I was being so quiet. And I just exploded. I broke down into tears and told her everything I was feeling. How I thought I was responsible for it all. I told her I was never going to speak again. That I'd speak only when spoken to. That I'd stop asking so many questions and having opinions about stuff. I swore it up and down the living room while she listened to me cry. I must've swore it a dozen times.
"Then, once I'd managed to calm myself, she told me something I'll never forget. She said my father was a bad man and bad men use your goodness against you. They take what you do to help others and they use it for their own bad ends, and when they walk away, leaving you destroyed inside, they count on you feeling like your goodness was to blame. Like your goodness was just a weakness and you should have known better. What destroyed my family was that my father decided to run drugs for the del Fuego cartel. And when we found out the truth, he chose them over us. Period. End of story.
"And I don't know if you've noticed, but I never kept my pledge. I never stopped asking all sorts of questions and I never stopped having opinions and I never stopped trying to talk my way to the truth of the matter. Because my mother told me I couldn't. Because my mother told me I wasn't allowed to let my father break me like that. To let his crimes break me like that."
The story had earned him her full attention. But there wasn't pity in her eyes, thank God. Instead, she was regarding him as an equal, as someone who shared in her pain without lecturing her about it or dismissing it or trying to call it something other than what it was—pain. And only now did he realize she'd taken his hand in hers while he'd talked. Now her grip was firm.
"Good," she whispered.
"Yes, that's good, and what'll also be good is if you don't allow yourself to think for one moment that you were almost killed last night because you were too trusting or too helpful, or just too determined not to see anyone
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