The Survivor

“Why’d he come here?” Nate asked. “Just out of the blue?”

Janie shifted with discomfort, and Pete’s grimace tightened. “Pete called his friend,” she said. “The cop. Earlier. From work.”

From the set of her mouth, Nate knew that this had already caused a disagreement between them. He felt his pulse beating at his temples. “Despite what we agreed?”

Pete said, “I’m not really in the mood for a lecture right now.”

“So they caught wind of it,” Nate said. “You broke the one rule.”

“Someone please tell me what’s happening!” Cielle yelled.

“Don’t lay this on me,” Pete said. “This began with you, Nate. It’s on your shoulders-”

Nate’s voice rose to match Pete’s. “You put my daughter at risk-”

Pete lifted his good hand, the fingers trembling. “I didn’t. The guy, he said, ‘Next time, we take her.’ So she’s safe now. At least as safe as she was.”

Cielle screamed, a rush of fear and anger. “What the hell is going on?”

An abrupt silence, broken only by the chop-chop-chop of a sprinkler in the backyard.

“What?” With dread, Cielle glanced from face to face. “What are you keeping from me now?”

Janie looked over at Nate. Save the freckles across the bridge of her nose, her skin was washed of color. She gave a little nod.

“The guy behind the bank robbery found me,” Nate said. “And he thinks I owe him for breaking up the heist. He wants me to steal something for him.”

Cielle’s eyes widened. “Or what?”

“He threatened to hurt you.”

“Me? What did I do?”

Nate reached for her, but she jerked back as if he’d struck her.

“I will not let him touch you. I will do anything-”

“So that guy, that huge guy you’re talking about…?” Cielle was shaking her head, still backing up, twisting away from him. “And you-you weren’t gonna tell me? I’m the one at risk, and you kept it from me?”

“That was my fault,” Pete said. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Well, guess what?” Cielle kept her glare on Nate. “I’m fucking scared.”

With the longest of the kitchen knives held across his knees, Nate sat downstairs in his former living room on his former couch staring at his former TV, though it was turned off. In the dark rectangle of the flat-screen, he could see his pale reflection and the portrait of Pete, Janie, and Cielle on the wall behind him. Their frozen faces hovered ghostlike over his shoulder.

Since Janie had to take Pete to the emergency room, Nate had agreed to stay and keep watch over Cielle, who had retreated angrily to her bedroom. Twice he’d gone up to knock and talk through the locked door, but his attempts at comforting her were met with no response. The sounds of her frightened crying eroded something inside him until he’d put his back to the wall and slid to the floor. He’d sat in the hall outside her bedroom for a time torturing himself before taking up the more strategic position on the couch. His anger had spent the last few hours simmering as he contemplated what to do.

The rusty complaint of the garage door announced Janie and Pete’s return. Nate rose to meet them, knife in hand. Janie helped Pete along, a white cast encasing his hand, his protruding index finger clamped by an additional splint.

“A couple metacarpal fractures,” Janie said. “Spica cast for six weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” Nate said. “You’re right. This did start with me.”

Pete waved him off. He looked shaken still.

“Cielle?” Janie asked.

“Upstairs. Won’t come out.”

Janie nodded and started up.

Nate and Pete regarded each other awkwardly.

“I’m gonna take care of this, Pete. I’ll keep you guys out of it. I promise. I’m gonna go see this guy. Tonight.”

“Nate,” Pete said, his eyes glassy. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Of course.”

He gestured toward the garage, and Nate stepped out after him, puzzled. Once the door had closed behind them, they faced each other in the quiet.

“Look, Nate, I’ll be honest with you.” Pete shifted on his feet, uncomfortable.

“What, Pete? Spit it out.”

“The guy, when he grabbed my arm, it was like I was a doll. I mean, Ukrainian gangsters. This is real.”

“I know.”

“And I mean, this is your mess, Nate. I’ve cleaned up after you before. But I don’t know…”

“What?” The light from the garage-door opener clicked off, leaving them only with a faint throw of moonlight through the window. Nate could hear Pete breathing, see the outline of sweat on his cheek. “I don’t get it. What are you saying?”

Pete cleared his throat. “I mean, what did you get me into here, Nate? It’s your mess.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“When Sally died, I barely came back from it. It took me months just to notice that the fucking sun was still in the sky, you know?”

“No one’s gonna die here, Pete. Not Janie, not Cielle.”

“I don’t know that I could get through something like that again.” More breathing. Something jangled in his hand, and Nate saw he was making a fist around his car keys. “I just moved in two and a half months ago.”

“Wait,” Nate said. “No. No, no, no-”

“I can’t do it, Nate. It’s not my mess. I paid off the mortgage here before things got tough financially-”

“This isn’t about money, Pete. They love you. Janie loves you. And Cielle-think about how she feels about you. You have to stay.”

“And I love them, too-” His voice broke in a half sob. “I’ll go with nothing. They can keep it all. But I can’t leave them knowing they’re … you know. Alone.”

It took everything Nate could muster to hold his mouth closed. Teeth clenched, lips pressed. And then he felt all the anger and tension leave, deflating him.

“Okay,” Nate said. “I got it.”

“I mean, you’re in the middle of it anyway. You might as well-”

“Pete. I said I got it.”

“Tell them. Tell them I love them. And I’m sorry.” Pete shifted the keys in his hand, his face narrowed with grief. He shuffled to the car, cast drawn in to his stomach protectively. His fingers pulsed, and the car chirped, and when he ducked in, Nate could see in the dome light that he was sobbing silently.

The garage door whirred up, and Pete backed out, and then the door closed and Nate stood there until the overhead light clicked off again. He took a deep breath, his lungs aching. Blew it out. Went inside.

Janie sat cradling Cielle on the couch. They looked up, faces drawn. “I heard the garage door,” Janie said. “I thought you left.”

“No.” Nate bit his lower lip. “Pete.”

Janie’s face broke.

Nate couldn’t stand to see her grief head-on. He studied the tips of his shoes. “He loves you both very much. But it’s a lot to handle. Too much, probably, for anyone.” He couldn’t believe he was defending the guy. “And he wanted to make sure you were taken care of financially, the house at least. He was broken up. He cares about you a lot, that much I could tell.”