I’m Not Leaving You
[Memory, Summer Break Before Senior Year, Late August]
Making sense of everything was so damn difficult. It made Lyn realize that all the knowledge he thought he had acquired while keeping his nose in books turned out to be a big pile of nothing once faced with harsh reality.
He might lose the house. Well, he didn’t know for sure, but all those numbers were dancing in front of his eyes like bouncing ants and he had no way to make them behave. Taxes, mortgage, insurance… all those words screamed at him like banshees, making him want to cover his ears to get away.
Arya had told him that she was working on something to get help for him, but he felt guilty about taking advantage of her kindness. Numb as he’d been after hearing the news about his mom’s sudden death, Arya had taken over and organized everything.
He’d have to find a job, something where he didn’t have to use his head because he didn’t know if he was capable of doing any thinking at all at the moment. If he couldn’t keep the house, where was he going to live? The start of senior year seemed so far away, even if it was just around the corner. But what if he had to ditch school to work?
All that effort, in vain. What could he do? If the house ended up being sold to settle all those debts, what would happen if he still couldn’t cover them? It looked like he needed a lawyer.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. He wasn’t a lawyer yet, and now he might never become one.
Tears of anger swelled in his eyes. He couldn’t be angry at his mom, he decided while wiping his tears away furiously and trying to refocus on all those numbers.
The front doorbell startled him so badly he banged his knee while getting up from the table. Cursing under his breath, he went to answer it.
“Coming,” he yelled, although he doubted the person on the other side could hear him stomping about.
He tore the door wide open and froze at the sight of a man dressed in a dark suit. Although Lyn couldn’t parse the information crowding into his head, something was telling him the man before him was a driver.
No, a chauffeur. His livery indicated that. Yes, that had to be it.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
“Lynton Calloway?” the man demanded, his eyes never leaving Lyn’s face.
“Yes.”
Did insurance companies send chauffeurs now to hand out dangerous documents and the like? He was being ridiculous; he knew it. He had debts, but any communication could be transmitted through electronic means today.
This seemed vaguely personal, for lack of a better explanation.
The man reached inside his interior pocket and handed Lyn something. An envelope?
“For you. Because of what happened to your mother.”
Lyn kept his hand on the door handle and squeezed it tightly. It wasn’t an envelope.
It was a check.
Pay to the order of Lynton Calloway – $15,000
More words to dance on inanimate paper like venomous insects.
He didn’t make a move to take it. “Who’s it from?” he asked, knowing well he was acting rudely. If this was from Arya, the man would say so. Or she’d call him first to let him know.
“Does it matter, son?” the man shot back, clearly annoyed by the brazenness of the destitute in front of him.
Lyn felt the pressure behind his eyes increasing. “I’m no one’s son,” he said curtly.
He made a move to close the door, but the man was faster and blocked it with his foot. “You better take it, kid. You’re lucky your mom was great at making a good impression wherever she went or he wouldn’t bother with a stranger like you, let alone a punk. Take it.”
“No, I don’t need it,” Lyn said, holding his chin high. His eyes kept darting to the paper in the chauffeur’s hand. He didn’t want to do that, but it was enough for him to read the name of the signer. A stranger. Of course, he was a stranger.
“It looks to me like you do. Take it or I’ll make you swallow it.”
Lyn paled at the direct threat. From up close, the man’s eyes were so cold they made the blood in his veins turn to ice.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” a voice boomed from behind the man, making him turn around.
Lyn thought he was going to be sick. Why was Brad here? Especially walking into a potentially dangerous situation with that same self-assured smile that made him popular on campus.
The chauffeur turned his attention back to Lyn. He grabbed him by the front of his shirt and stuck the folded check under it, at the base of Lyn’s neck. “Since you’re not wearing a bra,” he whispered in Lyn’s face while throwing him an ugly smirk.
“Hey, dude,” Brad warned, “I’m here with my dad, and he can sure as hell beat the crap out of you.”
The man in the dark suit performed a mock salute and walked around Brad without giving Lyn another glance.
Lyn thought his heart had stopped. He reached for the paper stuck to his sweaty skin and pulled it free, crushing it in his hand. “Brad,” he said in an empty voice, looking down, “this is really not a good time.”
His friend reached for him before he had a chance to retreat into the big, empty, dilapidated house.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Brad turned for a moment to wave at someone waiting outside.
Lyn was worried he might lose his mind. “Who else is here?” he asked.
“Dad,” Brad said. “Don’t worry. He’s going to wait for us in the car. But if that gorilla is really asking for a beating, I’ll let you know Dad did karate. Twenty years ago.”
Brad pushed Lyn inside and fought him for the paper in his hand. He whistled when he read it.
There had to be worse ways to die. Lyn hoped the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
“So,” Brad asked while giving him the check back but not without making sure to crumple it back into a ball, “how ritualistic do you want the sacrifice to be?”
“What sacrifice?” Lyn mumbled.
“That insult,” Brad said, pointing at Lyn’s hand. “We could burn it at midnight. Or you know, use it as toilet paper. Sort of anticlimactic, but whatever floats your boat, man.”
“Toilet paper? But it’s--”
“Yeah. A lot of money. But you don’t need this shit, Lyn, right?”
This was coming from Brad, who really liked money or else he wouldn’t be going into finance and working his butt off through college.
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t need this shit. But… why are you here?”
“Ah, right,” Brad said and gave Lyn a goofy smile. “I’m here to take you home.”
“What?” Lyn asked, unsure whether he had heard right or not. “Home where?”
Brad shrugged. “Home. My home. Well, my parents’. What do you say? You look like that chick in that movie with the rotten cake. I’m here to whisk you away.”
“But--” Lyn didn’t know what to say. Or do.
“Go pack. I mean, let’s go. I’ll help you. There’s no way I’m leaving you here in this gothic horror mansion.”
Lyn was still speechless but followed Brad up the stairs. His friend continued chatting happily as if he hadn’t just witnessed his best friend being treated like the son of a whore that he was.
“I told my mom. Don’t you always complain the house is too big for just one child? Well, here I come with the solution. There’s no way Lyn can sleep in that house by himself because he’s a wuss and might wet his bed while ghosts and whatever roam all over.”
“Wet my bed?” Lyn expressed his astonishment at Brad’s choice of words.
“Finally, got your attention. You scared me there for a minute with all that weird silence.”
Brad opened the door to Lyn’s bedroom as if he were at home. He put his hands on his hips.
“Come on, let’s do this.”
“How much should I pack?” Lyn asked, moving around like a disoriented mechanical doll.
“Um, let me think,” Brad said, rubbing his chin slowly. “Everything.”
“What—everything?” Lyn asked. “How long do you want me to stay with you? And your parents--”
“They’re okay with it. Mom especially because she’s going to have someone to baby, which means I’m off the hook.”
“Brad,” Lyn said, grabbing his friend’s arm, “how long?”
Brad shrugged. “As long as you want.” He wrapped an arm around Lyn’s shoulders. “It’s going to be so cool. We’re already like brothers. Now we’re going to live in the same house. Well, until we graduate at least. Because, after that, we might want to get away from my folks. They can be quite suffocating, not gonna lie.”
“Do you boys need any help?”
Lyn straightened up at seeing Brad’s dad. He had no idea what to say.
Brad’s jovial parent had just witnessed a piece of ugly truth from Lyn’s life. Yet, he acted as if nothing had happened.
“I’m sure you do,” Mr. Foster continued. “Do you need any of this furniture to go with you right now, Lyn? We’ll have a moving company come later if you need it.”
“No, no furniture,” Lyn said. “Hi, Mr. Foster.”
Brad’s dad smiled at him, not so unlike his son and patted him on the back. “And here I thought I’d finally find myself useful. I convinced Brad to let me come along because I was expecting some heavy lifting.”
“None of that,” Lyn said, wringing his hands. “Thank you, Mr. Foster. And for the hospitality, if what Brad says is true.”
“It is,” the man convinced him. “You’re welcome to stay with us, Lyn. Until you consider yourself suffocated enough, of course,” he added with a smile directed at his son.
Lyn had no idea what to say. He felt overwhelmed. But Brad’s dad didn’t look like he noticed. Instead, he began instructing them on what kind of things to pack. According to him, he had an entire list carefully curated by Mrs. Foster itemizing necessary things.
TBC
Thank you for reading!
@Derek - now, as they are grownups, they can see the past more clearly. It is what Alexander wants most, and he's carefully guiding Lyn toward it. As for what will come out of all of this... I am known for my happy endings :)
@Buchanan - thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story :) The truth will come out, I promise!
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