Brandon Enns - Islanders

She watched her mother tie her running shoes after she set her luggage just inside the door around the corner. By the time she got her shoes on and rose from her chair, Skye couldn’t contain herself. She lunged at her mother and hugged her tighter this time, sobbing into the nape of her neck.

“Hey, hey,” her mother shushed her. “Do you wanna get high?” her mom asked.

They walked outside and looked out over the stone railing down at the water.

“Can we have pizza on the beach later?”

“We can do whatever the hell we want.”

White picket fence. Castle. On each side of it, smaller castles. The grass was half covered with a light layer of snow. Trevor looked back to the cab, Erin’s hand dangling out the window, reaching for him. He took her hand.

“He’ll be okay, you know that right?”

“Do I?”

“Just be honest with him.”

He stepped up the driveway. His dad’s shining Jag was parked. His father was definitely home, probably watching CNN with a cold beer in his lap. He’d always set the glass bottle of beer in the freezer first before drinking it. Trevor entered his monstrosity of a house. Despite the circumstances, it still felt good to be inside his home. He looked up at the wide staircase, thick oak banisters leading up to his childhood bedroom. To his right, the kitchen lights were off, so he ventured left around the corner where he found his father. He had the Ranger game on instead of CNN, and a glass of whiskey instead of beer. He had crept up, still thinking of what he should say, how he should say it.

His dad turned and jerked, spilling some of his whiskey in his lap. “Jesus!” He caught his breath with his hand to his chest. “You scared the living shit out of me! What are you doing back home so soon? Everything all right?”

“I’m fine.” He dropped his bag next to the coach.

“What brings you back? Still got a girlfriend?”

“Still got her.”

“Well good. I like her. She’s a nice, smart girl. Sit. Take a load off. You’re not coming in tomorrow, are you?”

“No, I don’t think so. If that’s all right?”

“You got four more days if you want them.” He looked back at the TV. The Rangers were on the power play working the puck around in the Red Wings’ zone. “This is a sport. I think in another life I was a hockey player. They used to beat each other senseless, but the rules have sure tightened up… More graceful now. Faster. So fast. Did I tell you I switched?” He held up his glass of scotch. “It’s like a campfire in my mouth, but oddly enough, I like it.”

Trevor was pleased to see the mood his dad was in.

“So, why you home early then?”

“There were some troubles with the hospitality. Not a big deal. Listen, I need to talk to you about some things.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Have you been noticing anything different lately? Been feeling different at all?”

He looked down at his glass and swirled his whiskey around. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing, I’m just noticing inconsistencies at work. I should have mentioned it earlier. But it seems to me you’re forgetting things. Things you would never forget. You seem scrambled. Unfocused.”

He paused, staring at the TV. A moment or two passed.

“I thought it was just semiretirement, but it’s getting worse. Too many thoughts are hanging on the edge of my mind.”

“I didn’t think you’d be this forthcoming, to be honest.”

“Yeah, well. You’re the man of the business. You should know what’s going on with your defective partner.”

They both looked straight ahead at the TV. He had planned on bringing up the time he spoke of his passed sister in present tense, but he couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eyes and deliver.

“Dad…” Trevor said, like “come on.”

“I didn’t want you worrying about this shit. You got enough on your plate.”

“You got some for me or did you drink it all?”

“I’ll get you the cheaper stuff.”

“You just keep drinking. Two more and I’ll tell you about the doctor’s appointment I scheduled for you.”

“We’ll see.”

“Yes, we’ll see you at your appointment.”

“Not the kind of appointment I like. Doesn’t make me money.”

“I know.”

His dad nodded and motioned to get up from the couch, but Trevor stopped him. “There’s something else.”

“What?” he asked cautiously.

Trevor ran his thumb down the middle of his left palm. “There’s something I have to fix.”

His dad knew the severity from the look on Trevor’s face. “Then fix it.”

Gary Valencia and his family were still listed at the same address, although he assumed they would have fire-saled it by now, waiting for a possession date. Trevor walked. He didn’t want to show up in his father’s Jag, nor his Mercedes. He didn’t deserve to show up in either. Their house was large, not nearly as extravagant as his father’s, and half the size to fit seven people instead of one.

He knocked on the door, somehow making it sound like a dead man’s knock, if such a thing existed. A small girl, maybe five years old, answered the door. She was adorable with pink ribbons in her hair and pudgy cheeks with dimples as she smiled. Little white chicklets were on display. “Hi!”

“Hello. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Well, that’s good. Is your dad home?” She smiled again before turning to get her dad, her little feet scurrying across the hardwood floor. Heavier footsteps followed shortly, returning back to the entrance. At first sight, Gary’s face fell flat and angry. “What are you doing here?”

Trevor handed him a small square piece of paper from a notepad.

He looked at it. “What is this?”

“Call that number, talk to Leonard. He will be awaiting your call. He will help you with acceptance of the wire transfer on your end.”

“Wire transfer?”

“Consider it a buyout.”

“You’re joking.”

“Mr. Valencia, what happened—”

“Was incredibly illegal?”

“I know that this doesn’t replace what you built. It was your company. Your family. This price tag doesn’t replace that. But nine million can help you create something meaningful again, should you desire to. I know whatever you put your name on will be built with integrity. Something I could learn a thing or two about.”

The anger in his eyes faded, but he wasn’t thrilled either.

“I’m not wearing a wire, Mr. Miller.”

“My father had nothing to do with it. Fairway Capital dangled the bait and I took it. It was my mistake. If I could go back, I’d change it. But that’s a worn-out saying not worth saying.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” He sighed, looking back in reaction to his kids screaming in the living room as they chased each other around the couch. He turned back to Trevor. “What will happen with Fairway?”

“Rumor has it the partnership just isn’t working out.”

He nodded. “This is all coming from your bank account?”

Trevor nodded. Valencia was surprised.

“You know what I could turn around and do with this money you’re giving me?”

“I do.”

“I could hurt you.”

“You could try.”

“Maybe I will.”

“If you feel you have to, you should.” Trevor glanced at two of the kids kicking at one another on the couch. “I’d save your lawyer fees though. You probably wouldn’t win.”

He shook his head. “Maybe not… For the record, you’re still scum.

“Yeah… I’m working on that.”

Valencia grumbled and looked at the piece of paper in his hands. He squinted at it. “Good to be white, hey?”