Painted Picture

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Excerpt

During another big-money move Derek was supervising, he was given the opportunity to rent the three-bedroom house of one of Pete’s (his boss) longtime clients. It had two-and-a-half bathrooms, a full basement with a wet bar and mirrored walls, a wood-burning fireplace in the living room and master bedroom, a dining room that walked out onto a patio, and marble kitchen and bath floors. I told him to give the man the down payment the moment he told me about it, but he wanted me to see it first.

He finally took the day off where he didn’t spend most of it at the shop. At such a short notice, I could only take a half-day. He dropped me off at work at seven-thirty. He returned at noon with the excitement in his eyes all but gone. “Hey, Bay.” I didn’t think he heard me. I repeated my salutation, adding, “What’s up?”

His blank look was enough to convince me something was wrong. I jumped into the Suburban. “The man didn’t change his mind, did he?”

He snatched an envelope from over the visor and flung it at me. I threw my hands up to keep it from hitting me in the face. “You wanna explain this to me?”

My April bank statement trembled in my hands as I looked over the pages. Derek snatched them away from me, reading out dates, withdrawals, and money amounts. He reached into the glove compartment, pulling out February, nothing incriminating; and March, the beginning of it all. He threw the envelopes in my lap.

“Alicia, you better talk to me and I’m talking about right now!”

I started counting my fingers. Derek grabbed me by the collar of my coat and brought us face-to-face. He spoke through his teeth. “Alicia, what the hell you been doing with all that money?”

“I – I…”

“I – I, my ass. What were you doing making all of those withdrawals and writing all of those damn checks to Jewel? We don’t eat that damn much.”

“I – I been…”

“You been what!” The truth was lodged in my throat along with Auntie’s words, “that which is done in the dark,” and was choking me like the hand that held my collar. “What, Alicia? What!”

“I’ve been loaning it to Terese.”

The grip lessened. The angry monster was calmed. “Say that again.”

“I’ve been giving it to your mother!”

The deep dark secret stirred around in the air. We sat back, allowing it to settle. Derek rubbed his head with both hands, then locked them together at the base of his neck.

“Derek, I…”

“You better shut the hell up. That’s what you better do.”

The Suburban’s tires screamed up Jackson Boulevard. Derek drove fast, ducking in and out of traffic. His silence made me cry, “Bay, I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

He ripped the invoices from my hands and shoved them in my face. My head hit the window. The speed of the utility vehicle increased as he ran lights and blew the horn for the other drivers and pedestrians to get out of his way. By the time he reached Lake Shore Drive, he was driving so fast that I wanted to jump from the truck and get it over with, but the dark walls of death tempting me prevented me from opening the door. It waited for me on its own terms.

Derek shouted, “Alicia!” I ducked into upright. “Why the hell did you give Terese money? What the hell did I tell you? I can’t believe you were sneaking behind my back. That pisses me off. I could…”

He backhanded me. My face hit the glass. I held it there and balled up. “Did you hear me? I could actually hurt you, because your ass is hardheaded. I tell you not to give that bitch a damn thing and you end up going to work for her. I can’t believe you would do that. You make me wanna…”

He started pounding on the top of my head with his fists. When he realized what he was doing and where we were, he grabbed the steering wheel to get out of the curve where Lake Shore Drive ends and Sheridan Road begins. But, the Suburban wanted to do its own thing. It did a three-sixty, causing its weight to shift to one side and ride on two wheels.

Jerking the steering wheel in the opposite direction, Derek slammed on brakes. We skidded into the path of a delivery truck racing to beat the light. It screeched into stop, blowing its horn way above my screams. Death was still taking its time with me, scorching my throat with the fumes from the burnt rubber. Choking me like the words of my confession and the hand that had been in my collar. It wanted to hear me again. I obliged. It wanted to see me run. I fulfilled its desire.

I snatched the handle of the door back, kicked it open, and dove out of the Suburban. The pavement clawed into my elbows, arms, and legs ripping open my flesh as I rolled over until I was able to get on both feet. And like Jesse Owens with a bad sprain, I was gone, allowing the terms of death to have a laugh.