Sleep brought no relief from the headache that sent him to bed. Xavier pressed the heel of his hand into the center of his forehead. The thumping stopped. Then started again. The pounding was not in his ears, but at his front door. He sat up quickly. The room turned into a Tilt-A-Whirl. The knock at the door resumed.
“Hold on!” His shout made the spinning worse. He clenched his jaw and willed the world to slow. When certain he wouldn’t fall, he hustled to the front door and threw it open. A woman in blue scrubs with a bag slung over her shoulder walked back toward her car parked out front.
“Can I help you?”
She jumped at the sound and turned, her hand on her chest. “Are you Mr. Wallace?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, good, I was worried I was at the wrong house.” She stepped up onto the small porch but stopped short. Xavier did not move aside to let her in.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
She held up the ID badge that hung from a lanyard around her neck. “Donna. I’m the hospice nurse. I’m here to see your father?”
Xavier’s eyes went wide. “What time is it?”
“10:45. I know I’m a little early, but I finished up with another patient near here and thought—” 203
“It’s 10:45. In the morning?”
Donna took a step back. “A little past, yes. Is everything okay, Mr. Wallace?”
He retreated and slammed the door. No way he’d slept that long. He looked down at his clothes. Same outfit from the day before.
He fast-walked back to his bedroom when a glint of light caught his eye. Sunlight peeked through the blinds of the window over the sink and caught the face of his cell phone. Xavier walked over to see his notes from his call with Mrs. Thomas. He gripped his scalp, pulling the skin of his forehead tight. There were several missed calls from Maple Grove.
“God fucking damn it!”
The shout created pressure in his head and nausea swept through his insides. He took a deep breath, then grabbed his phone and headed for the door, just as Donna resumed knocking. He whipped it open and startled her all over again.
“Mr. Wallace, are you all right? I thought I heard a shout.”
“I have to go.”
He slammed the door and ran toward the back of the house. Outside and down the steps, he started the car.
Xavier turned onto the main road out of the neighborhood and looked to the rearview as he sped up the hill. Donna stood next to the open door of her car, arms in the air in disbelief. He told himself to call the agency and apologize later, then laughed at the idea that he’d remember to do so. He picked up the phone. Looking back and forth from the phone to the road, he opened his recent calls and hit send, then slammed on the brakes. The Volvo’s tires squealed as the bumper stopped inches from the car in front of him. Xavier braced for impact behind him. He breathed out in relief when he saw an empty road behind him in the mirror.
“Maple Grove, how may I direct your call?” 204
“Mrs. Thomas, please.”
“May I tell her—”
“Xavier Wallace.”
The receptionist asked him to hold. He tapped his left foot against the floor and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. The light changed and the receptionist came back on the line.
“Mr. Wallace? Mrs. Thomas has asked me to ask you if you are on your way?”
“I am. I know I’m late.”
“In that case, she said she would speak to you when you arrive.”
“What? Why?”
“She didn’t say any more than that, Mr. Wallace.”
“Then ask her!”
The line went silent. The speedometer read fifty miles per hour. Xavier passed the thirty-five sign and gently braked. “Look, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Can you please just ask her about my father?”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Wallace. There are privacy rules that—”
“Right, great, fine. Thank you for nothing. Tell her I’ll be right there.” She spoke again but he ended the call and tossed the phone into the passenger seat.
She’ll talk to you when you get there? What, are you in grade school now? You in trouble for being late? You got to stay after class? Who the hell does this bitch think she is?
Another emotion elbowed its way into his mind and pushed its way into his guts. In all their interactions, Mrs. Thomas had been firm, but fair. And kind in a way Xavier knew he didn’t deserve. That she’d be petulant, especially now, was incongruent with all she’d shown him. Dread settled into his stomach. His chest tingled in the space above his heart. He 205struggled to regulate his breathing. He pressed the gas and watched the side streets, hoping he wouldn’t get pulled over. He couldn’t waste any more time.
Once parked, Xavier sprinted to the entrance of Maple Grove. The automatic doors slid slowly, and he turned sideways to fit through the opening. His shoulder banged off one of them and rattled it in its track. Mrs. Thomas was in the lobby with a nurse he thought he recognized. Mrs. Thomas leaned on the raised counter of the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist caught sight of him and pointed him out to Mrs. Thomas. She turned to look over her shoulder, then all the way around to face Xavier. She folded her hands in front of her, the look on her face severe.
“So sorry I’m late. I don’t know what happened, but I’m ready to take him home now.”
“Mr. Wallace.”
“He’s not ready. Is he being difficult again?”
“Why don’t you come with me to my office?”
Xavier laughed nervously. “Why? Is he in your office?”
“Let’s just go to my office.”
“No.”
“Mr. Wallace, please.”
“No, I’m not going into your office. I want to see my dad and I want to take him home. I left the hospice nurse waiting for me at the house.”
Mrs. Thomas glanced at the nurse standing next to her. There was admonition in the look, as if the nurse had done something wrong. Xavier lost his patience with their attempts at obfuscation.
“Don’t look at her. Look at me! I want to take my father home!” Mrs. Thomas flinched at his timbre. Xavier softened. “Please.”
“You can’t, Mr. Wallace.” 206
“Why?”
Mrs. Thomas took a deep breath. Her face held the answer to the question that echoed in his mind.
“Can we please just go to my office?” she asked.
Her plea caught Xavier on the chin and sent him two steps back. His heels caught the carpet and he stumbled slightly. Mrs. Thomas instinctively reached out as if to catch him. He backed further away until he was close enough to one of the lobby chairs and dropped down into it. Mrs. Thomas took a seat next to him. Xavier stared at his feet. A tear fell and hit the carpet with a quiet pat before it was absorbed by the pile.
“When?”
She spoke softly. “About an hour ago.” She looked up toward the nurse at the front desk and then waved to her, signaling she’d be fine. “Tanya was supposed to have called the hospice nurse to let her know. I’m sorry she came to your house.”
“Did he know I was supposed to be here?”
“Mr. Wallace.”
“He did. Fuck.”
“Are you sure we can’t go to my office?”
“Did he say anything?”
“Mr. Wallace.”
“What did he say?”
She pulled at the hem of her scrubs top. “He was awake this morning. More alert than the day before. Clearer. It didn’t last long, though. He asked where you were, when you were coming. Then he stopped asking. I told him I called and that I thought you’d be here any minute.” She paused.
“What did he say to that?”
“Nothing at first. Just closed his eyes. I went to leave, and he said, ‘It’s okay.’”
“‘It’s okay.’” 207
“Maybe at the end there, he had some clarity. Maybe he remembered some of what happened. It can happen with patients sometimes. I think maybe he understood.”
Xavier sat up and wiped at the bottom of his nose. “Yeah, well, nobody asked you what you think. What’s that supposed to mean to me now, huh?”
Mrs. Thomas’s spine stiffened. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Again, that wasn’t my place.” Xavier chewed on his bottom lip and stared straight to the other side of the lobby. “Do you want to see him?”
Xavier stood. “No.” He walked to the entrance. Mrs. Thomas called out after him. There was something about papers and powers of attorney, but her words were cut in half by the sliding doors closing behind him, drowned out by the screaming in his ears.
He headed for the parking lot. The sun seemed brighter than when he arrived. He shielded his eyes with his hand at his forehead but doing so did nothing to dam the headache filling his skull full to bursting.
In the lot sat a van with photos of dogs and cats along with a logo for an animal rescue on the side. A middle-aged blond woman with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail coordinated volunteers who brought dogs out of the back of the van on leashes. By her side sat a blue-furred pit bull whose face had been put through its paces. Both the woman and the dog looked familiar, though Xavier didn’t know why. He couldn’t stop staring at either one of them. The blonde waved. The dog looked up and followed her gaze across the pavement, rose from his haunches, and whipped his tail back and forth. That she seemed to know Xavier stopped his momentum for an instant, but he kept on past them.
“Wow. Hello to you, too.”
He stopped and turned. “Do I know you?” 208
“Is that a joke?” She narrowed her eyelids and craned her neck forward. Conscious of his swollen eyes and runny nose, he wiped at both. “Whoa, hey. Are you okay?” He looked back and forth between her and the dog. He knew he should know them and the strain to remember felt as physical as anything he’d ever done. The sky lowered until he felt it might press him through the macadam beneath his feet. Still, there was an instinct to reach out and shake the woman’s hand, to squat in front of the pit and take his massive jowls in his hands and press his forehead to his. Try as he might to make them otherwise, they were strangers. The more he tried to make them known to him, the harder his head pounded, the more oppressive the sky above him until he felt crushed beneath the weight of it.
“I have to go,” he said, and walked off to his car without a look back.
As he drove, the calls were incessant. Each time the phone buzzed, he sent Maple Grove to voicemail. The screen went dark only to light again in seconds. He’d deal with them, but not now. Not now. They called again and his thumb hovered over the green phone icon.
And what are you going to say? You going to yell at them the way your daddy did? Treat them like crap after all they done for you? For him? Man, you ain’t shit. Put that phone down.
He did. After five minutes, the calls stopped. He found relief for the moment, happy to be unbothered. Then he quickly became furious at the fact that they’d given up so easily. He picked the phone up again, intending to call back and give them a piece of his mind, only to put it back in the cup holder and drive on.
He was minutes away from Manayunk when he realized 209that he’d driven toward the gym. The hypnotic hum of the tires took him through the corners and curves of Lincoln Drive like a rally driver until he found himself on Main Street once again. He parked and exited the car on autopilot. He walked past the receptionist’s half-hearted greeting without acknowledgment and brushed the shoulders of patrons too slow to make way as he stalked toward the locker room.
He changed into his rash guard and fight shorts. Seated on the bench he wrapped his hands, splaying his fingers as he pulled the worn cotton straps tight between the webbing, then closing them in a tight fist until the bones of his hands were densely packed together. He smacked one fist into an open hand, repeated it on the other side. He stood and walked out onto the gym floor.
Shot ran drills with Clay in the ring. Three of his protégés gathered at a corner on the floor, talking while Clay slipped and moved under Shot’s focus-mitts, popping sharp counter hooks and uppercuts as he came up from beneath the strikes. One onlooker turned at the sound of Xavier’s footsteps. His face swollen and distended around the jaw. Rings under his eyes, once purple, now faded to a yellowish green. At the sight of Xavier, he stood up straight. His thick shoulders tensed, pulled up near his ears. He took a step back, the calm in his voice betrayed by the rigidity of his posture. He spoke through a jaw held tight by wires.
“What up, Xavier?” Xavier didn’t return Lawrence’s greeting. Neither did Xavier see Lawrence’s confused look as he walked past him as though he didn’t know him. Xavier did not know the broken-faced man who spoke to him. Xavier had yet again been recognized by someone he did not know, but Xavier no longer cared.
Xavier walked up the steps and into the ring with Shot and 210Clay. Xavier looked at Clay expectantly. Clay took his look for clowning and smiled.
“What, you can’t wait your turn?”
Xavier stared Clay down, willing him to leave. Clay tried to look away, but Xavier followed.
“X,” Shot said.
Xavier held the stare.
Clay stopped bouncing and held his arms out. “What?”
Shot looked back and forth between the two of them, as confused as Clay—until he wasn’t.
“Go on, Clay,” Shot said.
Clay looked at him, incredulous. “What do you mean, go on? We just got started.”
“I said go on.”
Clay looked back to Xavier, who continued his glare. Clay hissed and threw his arms up in disgust, theen stomped to the ropes and stepped through, quick-footing his way down the steps. Xavier pivoted to face Shot, who had the pads at the ready. Shot signaled to one of the boys watching and he restarted the round timer.
Three bell rings sounded, and Xavier unleashed on the pads. His long arms cut through the air. His fists struck the focus mitt’s red leather circle and smacked like a baseball in a catcher’s mitt. His hands came back to protect his face, the muscles in his arms coiled snakes, ready to deliver another strike. Shot threw straight lefts and rights down the middle and Xavier slipped so they only grazed his temple. The turn of his hips loaded him to deliver a chained combination. They stepped around each other and the ring in balletic movements of attack and retreat, avoid and counter.
Despite the days of dehydration and skipped meals, the acid burn in his arms and legs did not consume, but propelled. The fire did not sap his reserves but provided the combustion for 211an engine that drove him ever forward, each punch faster and harder than the last. The tinnitus threatened to grow louder, the pain in his heart overwhelming, so he pushed harder still, to drown the ringing with the sounds of his breathing, to hide his tears in the sweat streaming down his face.
The bell rang again, signaling the end of the round. Shot lowered his hands and turned to his corner where his water sat. Xavier pushed him from behind. The boys murmuring outside the ring fell silent. Shot turned, eyes wide. Xavier’s look pleaded with his cousin. And his cousin obliged.
He stepped back into the pocket with Xavier and held the mitts at the ready. A nod and Xavier let loose ferocious combinations that sent Shot’s thick arms back with each crack. He swung hard hooks at Xavier’s head. Xavier wore them on his forearms before he pushed Shot backward. Shot stepped back in the pocket and swung again, this time for the body. Xavier dropped his elbows, protected his ribs, then delivered a body shot of his own. Shot winced as the strikes thundered into the thickness of his body pad. Shot brought the mitts down hard on Xavier, but his momentum would not be slowed. With each strike, the fury in Xavier’s face melted into despair, as though he couldn’t help but punch with all his might. The round timer sounded again, but Xavier pressed forward until Shot’s back was against the corner. Xavier’s hands flew from the focus mitts to the body pad until he abandoned all technique. His gloves smacked off Shot’s exposed arms as he drew them in and tucked his chin. Shot whispered.
“Get it out.”
Xavier groaned an agonized, guttural moan. A hook glanced off Shot’s sweaty shoulder and caught him across the lip, splitting it in an instant. Shot tucked it in, brought the focus mitts closer to his face, and continued to weather the onslaught. Xavier’s punches steadily lost their power as 212his limbs succumbed to fatigue. He threw his all into the strikes, grunting with each blow, angry with his body for betraying him in this moment when he needed it most. The punches turned into clubbing blows against Shot’s shoulders and chest. His moans choked in his throat and Shot tied his arms up so he could strike no more. Xavier struggled at first to free his arms, then gave in to Shot’s hold on him when he understood it for what it was. He buried his head in Shot’s chest and sobbed. His legs buckled and Shot pulled him close. Shot lowered them both to the mat until they were sitting in the corner and he held his cousin’s head to his chest as he cried.