I look in the direction Nate points and see a painting of a severe man hanging on the wall. I assume it’s Nate’s late father, but something isn’t right. Nate keeps talking about his father in the present tense and making references to him like he’s standing in the room with us.
Nate had never mentioned his father’s death to me, and I’d wondered why on many occasions. The rare times he had talked about him, it had been as if his father were very much alive, but I didn’t want to push him on such a sensitive topic even after Nora told me.
“Oh my God,” I whisper as I start to understand.
Nora approaches Nate and places her hand on his arm. Antony moves up behind her as if he thinks Nate might try to hurt her, but I don’t see any anger in his eyes, just confusion.
“You heard him,” Nate says as he turns to me, his eyes wide. He looks terrified. “He was right here when I was…was asking you…”
“There wasn’t anyone else here,” I whisper. “It was just you.”
Again, Nora tells him that his father is dead, and again, Nate doesn’t seem to hear her or comprehend what she’s saying. He’s white as a sheet. His mouth is open, but no sound comes out. His gaze moves from one face to another, then back to the empty corner of the room.
“He’s right there,” Nate whispers. “He’s there. He has to be there. I can’t...not without...it was Micha’s casket…Micha…”
Another moment passes, and Nate looks at me right before he drops to his knees.
“Nate!” I leap forward, but Nora and Antony are there first.
Antony catches Nate just before his head hits the floor, and Nora grabs his face in her hands, yelling his name, but he doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at the wall, his eyes glassy.
“Jesus,” Threes mutters, “can this get any more fucked up?”
If it can, I don’t want to know.
After a few, forever-like moments, Nate sits up and grabs onto Nora with shaky hands. Antony moves behind him, helping him stay upright. He looks all around the room, searching with wide, panicked eyes.
“He’s gone,” Nate whispers, still staring at the wall.
“Nataniele,” Nora says gently, “he’s been gone. He’s been gone for months.”
Nate just shakes his head as tears begin to stream down his face.
“Get off of me!” he suddenly cries, pushing Nora and Antony away. “I’m not…I…” He pulls his knees to his chest and squeezes his eyes shut, unable to continue.
Nora kneels beside him, trying to reach out, but he pushes her hand away again.
“Where’s Cherry?” Nate asks abruptly. He turns slightly, trying to look around his sister. “Cherry!”
“I’m right here.” I have no idea what I should do right now. I mean, what’s the protocol when your boyfriend who was just accusing you of being a spy for a rival crime family calls out for you when he realizes his father has been dead for months? Popcorn?
I shake my head at the imagery of popcorn strands on a Christmas tree and my likely father standing over me, smiling. I can’t cope with what’s going on in my own head, let alone whatever is happening in Nate’s. This is too much. Too much.
“Please,” Nate says as he extends his hand.
I glance at Nora and then take a few awkward, unintentional steps forward. I want to turn and run in the other direction, but Nate’s tortured expression keeps me in the room. I can’t leave him like this, no matter what he’s done.
I place my hand in his, bracing myself since I assume he wants me to help him to his feet. Instead, he pulls me closer to him, and I have to lower myself to the floor to keep from losing my balance. He reaches up to wrap his arms around me as a shudder runs through him.
“I can’t...I can’t do this…not alone.”
I don’t know what “this” is, but the tone in his voice is so broken, I can’t help but respond. I blink back tears as Nate holds me tighter. His body shakes with his sobs.
“You’re not alone. I’m here, Nate. I’m here for you.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers through choked breaths. “I don’t know… He told me not to trust you… He said…” Nate pauses and takes a sharp breath. “He wasn’t even there, was he?”
“It’s all right,” I say. It isn’t, but I don’t know what else to tell him. Nothing about this is all right. Nothing about this even makes any sense.
“Don’t stand there gawking,” Nora says from behind me. “Get him some water or something.”
“Fuck water,” Antony mumbles.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Antony grab a bottle of bourbon as Threes comes up behind Nate.
“Come on, bro,” Threes says, “get on your feet.”
Threes helps Nate up, gets him settled on the couch, and Antony places a glass of bourbon in his hands. I rise and stand off to the side, literally wringing my hands and fretting. I’m still angry and hurt over Nate’s earlier behavior toward me, but seeing him like this makes me feel positively sick to my stomach.
I look at each of their faces in turn.
Threes leans against the arm of the couch with his hand on Nate’s shoulder, his voice calm but his eyes full of concern and disbelief. Nora bites her lip and looks as if she’s holding back tears. Antony shakes his head slowly as he takes a swig from the bourbon bottle.
Finally, I look at Nate. The glass shakes in his unsteady hands, and his body rocks slowly as tears continue to stream down his cheeks. I’ve never seen anyone look so…so broken.
“He’s really gone?” Nate whispers.
“Yes, Nataniele. Pops is gone.” She kneels next to him. “How long, Nate? How
