Broken Identity Read online

  “Surprisingly, a little more calm than last time,” Andrew said, managing a weak smile. “You did a good job. I really believe we’ve finally won this thing.”

  Joe nodded his head and exhaled slowly. “Let’s hope so. The judge’ll be out in a moment to decide that, but personally…” He smiled back at Andrew and said, “I think you’re right. You’ll make a good father to that boy.”

  Father. No, he could never replace that figure in Ronnie’s life. That definition wouldn’t work. It represented abuse, not love, so he would just keep it at “uncle” unless Ronnie ever wanted to change it.

  Kevin Tavner, Andrew’s brother, finally arrived at ten minutes before eleven o’clock. What a sight. No tie, half-ironed slacks that barely matched his button-up, and speed-combed hair. Andrew shook his head. Was this nothing more than a game to him? He glanced at Joe, who said with his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

  Kevin purposefully snubbed his brother’s presence. He jerked his seat back, ignoring the grating shrill it brought as it scraped the floor. Along with his sweat-matted, black hair and livid eyes, his face was a splotchy, blood red. Andrew knew what that meant and didn’t care to think about it. He was just relieved that Ronnie was now safely out of Kevin’s reach, especially on a day like today. If Kevin ever dared to touch that kid again, Andrew would handle him himself—this time without the help of a judge.

  Kevin’s wife entered next, smearing away her thick, caked-on makeup as she wiped her eyes with a tissue. Her mascara spread in streaks under her eyes like the windswept grass that forced itself through the cracks of Andrew’s front porch. But Andrew felt no compassion for her. She was just as much part of this as her husband was; and since neither of them had taken proper care of their own son, he found it his duty—and his privilege—to assume responsibility of the boy.

  Andrew barely shifted his eyes to look over at his brother discussing something with his attorney. He closed his eyes, praying, hoping that today would be the last time he ever had to come back to this nightmare of a place.

  Saturday morning brought on a rush of emotions. Scared, sure. Nervous, maybe. Excited…yes, definitely excited. More excited than he had ever remembered feeling.

  Drake Pearson found the best clothes he owned and smoothed them out over his bed. Still wrinkled, but good grief, it wasn’t like he was applying for manager at a restaurant or something. A simple job of flipping burgers or bagging groceries was as far as he expected to get.

  He had already figured out on his calculator last night how much cash he would need to save each week before he would finally have enough to ditch this house and start his own life. The figures were disappointing, but the gamble of living on the street for a while didn’t seem so bad. People did it all the time and came out OK, depending on how hard they tried. At least, that was his analysis. No matter what the cost, he would find a way. Whatever it took to get away from his old man would be worth it in the long run.

  His dad was still snoring deeply in the next room, giving off sounds like he was hacking up a log. That’s all the fool ever did. Sleep his life away as if his days would last forever. Well, the world was still spinning and the hourglass still sifting sand; and now, Drake wasn’t going to watch life pass him by. He was going to pursue it.

  He hastily threw on his clothes and splashed his face with water. Most of his acne had cleared up in the last few months—definitely a plus considering appearance had a lot to do with being hired. After patting down a stray hair above his ear, Drake snatched up his wallet and keys and stole quietly out the door.

  A local pizza place situated between a nail salon and insurance company was Drake’s first stop. He had had his eye on that place ever since he first considered getting a job, which in reality hadn’t been longer than a month. It didn’t seem like much on the outside, especially with the cracks in the bricks being crammed full of gum and the windows still advertising last year’s Christmas parade. But outside appearances didn’t matter much, Drake guessed. As long as he received a paycheck every week that he could call his own, he would be thrilled.

  A tiny bell jingled as Drake pushed open the door. Instantly, the aroma of hamburger and pepperoni pizza rushed to fill his nostrils.

  “What can I do for you?” The 42-year-old owner’s New York accent was still as sharp and defined as it had been twelve years ago when he moved to Missouri. He wiped his greasy fingers clean on his apron, which had the company’s giant logo printed on it, and grabbed a pen from his pocket. “Our specials today are—”

  “Uh, actually I saw your now-hiring sign out front and wondered if you still had positions available,” Drake interrupted, doing his best to keep the quiver in his voice unnoticeable. “I’m a hard worker, and—”

  “Sorry, kid,” the man said, cutting his sentence short. “Interviewed a guy and girl yesterday. Gave ’em the job on the spot.”

  Drake melted inside. “You don’t have anything? I mean, I could wash the floors or clean the pans or something. Anything. Please, I need this job.”

  “Already filled. Besides, we don’t hire students.”

  “In two days I’ll be eighteen,” Drake protested.

  The man sighed and returned his pen to his shirt pocket, obviously realizing he wasn’t going to make a sale. “Look, we aren’t hiring anymore,” he said flatly. “Period. Meant to take the sign down yesterday and forgot, OK? Sorry.”

  Drake caught the emphasis. This man clearly wasn’t interested in him and probably would never be. He doubted the man had even interviewed anyone. It was just as his dad had told him yesterday: People didn’t hire trash, especially the son of a man this town knew too well for all the wrong reasons. Besides, this pathetic excuse for a county was too small anyway, cutting his chances for work to an even scarier fraction. So it wasn’t like the blame was all on him; opposition was plainly stacked against him on all sides. It’s just one place, Drake. Don’t beat yourself up over it. There’s plenty more places willing to hire.

  The next four places gave him the same message—not hiring. Tired and feeling as if his confidence had fallen lower than a zero, Drake followed their advice and went home.

  Andrew’s heart thumped rapidly against his rib cage as the judge commanded the defendant to rise.

  Say it. Say it.

  The air seemed to rush from the room. Andrew tried to read the judge’s face, but all he saw were Ronnie’s eyes and the cluster of freckles underneath them instead. His pulse quickened, his heart pleaded for an answer. God, let it be good. Let Ronnie come home with me today. Please, please let today be the last day I ever have to come back to this courtroom.

  The courtroom was dead silent as the judge cleared his throat and pushed his thin-rimmed glasses higher up his nose.

  I’ll never ask You for another thing again. Just let him say the words I’ve been waiting to hear.

  Kevin watched like a stone-faced gargoyle, beyond caring any longer. This was all a boring formality that needed to end today.

  The judge made eye contact with both Andrew and Kevin before finally uttering his verdict. “I rule this case in favor of Mr. Andrew Tavner. This court grants full custody of Ronnie Tavner to his uncle, Andrew Tavner, effective immediately.”

  Andrew almost collapsed into the chair behind him. A sudden coolness swept over his entire body, as if life and peace were welcoming themselves in again. So long…too long. Tears burned his eyes as he thanked God. Oh, God, thank You. You’ve answered my prayers. Now all I ask is that You help me raise this child right.

  “All visitation rights for Mr. and Mrs. Kevin Tavner are terminated at this time,” the judge continued, his deep voice booming as it reverberated off the walls.

  Andrew rubbed his eyes, finding it hard to listen to the rest of what the judge had to say when all he could think about was Ronnie.

  Drake burst through the front door too quickly and collided smack into his father. He ducked his head and walked toward his bedroom.

  “Don’t go
runnin’ off now, Drake!” Ben said with a curling sneer. “I wanna hear all about your little experience of finding a job!”

  “Go take a bath. You reek of old beer and body odor.” Drake rounded the corner to his room.

  Ben followed close behind him. “So will you be taking fast-food orders, or…”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Didn’t get one, did ya?” He cackled with laughter. “How does it feel to stoop to the level of admitting your old man was right and you were wrong?”

  Drake swore. “Don’t start with me today!”

  “I asked you a question, you disrespectful brat!”

  Drake braked in his tracks and whirled around. “No, Dad, I didn’t. Does it make you feel better knowing your son’s a failure just like you?”

  Ben held up his hands innocently, though a cynical smile still covered his face. “Don’t blame me for it,” he said cheerily, slurping down the rest of his stale beer. “I tried to tell ya, but nooooo, you wanted to do it your own way. Didn’t want my help, when I plainly told ya—”

  “Yeah, always trying to watch my back aren’t ya? I’d probably fall over dead if you actually encouraged me just once instead of spotlighting every one of my flaws. But I guess that’s askin’ too much, isn’t it? Especially from a waste like you.”

  Ben slammed his fist lividly against the already dented wall and cursed. “Encourage you how? By feeding you lies? I try to be honest with my own son, and I get hated for it!” The veins in his neck grew taut.

  “I’m still leaving!” Drake shouted angrily, not willing to accept defeat this soon. “I hate this house, I hate my going-nowhere life, and I—” He clenched his keys in his hand and held them in a fist in front of his face. “I’ll drive a thousand miles away and steal, kill, do whatever it takes to get my break in life. I’m ready to explode on the inside, and you’re about to set me off!”

  “You’re all talk and no guts. Going away takes money. Lots of it. And stealin’ ain’t as easy as you think, else I would have had my hands on plenty of it years ago.”

  Those words cut deep. Not have the money to leave? He’d do anything before he let that happen. He could pull it off and make it work. “I don’t know, but I’ll find a way!” he yelled, sick and tired of the constant nagging. “With or without the money, I’m leaving. Just get off my case!”

  “You remind me of your mother,” Ben said, slowly crushing the beer can in his hand.

  Drake stared at him, wondering why those words sounded so much more threatening when coming from his mouth. “Oh, so now that’s a bad thing?”

  “Will I never see Daddy or Mommy again?” Ronnie said during the long drive back to Andrew’s home in Springfield, Illinois.

  Andrew pressed his lips closed and watched the 7-year-old cuddle his overstuffed panda as he gazed curiously out the window. He swallowed and said hesitantly, “Do you want to, Ronnie?”

  Ronnie shrugged and hugged his bear tighter. “No,” he said, so quietly Andrew almost didn’t hear him. “They were mean to me. I dunno why.”

  Andrew felt terrible for the kid. He remembered a little over a year ago when Ronnie had come to visit him one Christmas—that was when he had first noticed the cigarette burns on the young child’s skin and the small bruises that Ronnie’s parents had always justified by saying, “He’s always running into things.” Andrew had known it was a lie. Pain always had a way of surfacing itself, whether through a kid’s sad eyes or his tense body when his father came too close.

  Andrew wilted like a dead leaf on the inside just thinking about it. He wanted it to be different for Ronnie this time, for relationship to mean something. He just prayed he was strong enough to reach out and pull Ronnie back to love again.

  Ronnie hardly blinked. His eyebrows were tilted in confusion as rows of shadows swept across his expressionless face. Slowly, he pulled the bear closer to his heart and buried his frown in the fur of its head.

  Andrew shifted a little in his seat, dreading that the thin ice he was tiptoeing on would crack under his feet at any moment. Ronnie was happy, wasn’t he? Surely he hadn’t made a mistake. “Were your foster parents good to you, Ronnie?”

  Ronnie shrugged.

  “I mean, I know we talked on the phone about it a lot, but…”

  Silence.

  “Did they treat you all right? Feed you and give you a bed?”

  “Sure.”

  Andrew glanced in the mirror and hesitated. “You don’t make it sound that way now.”

  “They were OK, I guess. The man worked a lot, and the lady liked to talk on the phone.”

  Straightforward, Ronnie. Please answer my questions and don’t walk around them. “Did they have any kids?”

  Now Ronnie met his gaze. “Two boys, both older than me,” he answered. “I don’t think they liked me very much, though. Called me names sometimes when their parents weren’t around. One of them told me I was there just so their parents could make more money.”

  The ice shattered, along with what was left of Andrew’s bruised heart. “I’m sorry, Ronnie. People are just mean like that sometimes. You know why?”

  Ronnie shook his head.

  “Because they’re jealous.”

  Ronnie blew air out of his nostrils. “Jealous? I don’t think so.”

  “Sure. Why else would they say mean things about you? I’ll bet it’s because they know they can never be you, and that makes them mad. You’re special. There will never be another Ronnie, you know that?”

  Ronnie stared at him doubtfully. “A lot of people are named Ronnie.”

  “But they’re not my Ronnie,” Andrew said, smiling.

  Ronnie shyly smiled back. “You’re silly.”

  “Forget about your foster home. You’re going to be living with me from now on, and those stairs are practically begging for someone to run up and down them every day.”

  “Can I still keep all my toys?”

  Andrew smiled. Just like a kid to be worried about his toys at a time like this. “Of course you can.”

  “And my other stuffed animals too?”

  “And all your stuffed animals too. You’re going to stay with your grandma this evening while I go get your stuff, and when I get back, we can—”

  “But I want to go with you, Uncle Andy,” Ronnie said softly, struggling to peer over the headrest.

  Andrew frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ronnie.”

  Ronnie had a puzzled look on his face, but Andrew decided it best not to explain further. “Hey, I promise as soon as I get back, I’ll make you the biggest fruit smoothie you’ve ever seen. That’s something worth waiting for, huh?”

  Ronnie considered that for a moment. “Can you make mine banana? That’s my favorite.”

  “Why not? Then after that, maybe we could play a board game or something.”

  Ronnie yawned and used his panda bear as a pillow against the window. “OK…Uncle Andy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are Mommy and Daddy mad at me? Did I do something wrong?”

  So they were back on that subject again. Andrew’s heart ached to know that Ronnie was taking the blame for what was happening to him. “No, Ronnie,” he said, surprised at how weak his voice suddenly sounded. “You’ve never done anything wrong.”

  “Then why don’t they like me?”

  “Ronnie, your mom and dad…well, they just…”

  “Don’t love me?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that,” Andrew said, his tired eyes looking everywhere but in the rearview mirror.

  “Then what?”

  Seven-year-olds can ask the hardest questions. How do I tell him the truth about his parents without crushing his heart? “Do you know why I’m taking you home with me, Ronnie?”

  “Because they were mean to me?”

  “Because I love you and want the very best for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Ronnie nodded his head, listening intently to every word.

  “We jus
t need to pray for Mommy and Daddy and ask God to help them. Do you know how to pray?”

  Ronnie knocked his knees together and said timidly, “I don’t know. Maybe…I guess.”

  “Well, then, tonight I’ll show you. It’s not hard, Ronnie. You know how to talk, right?”

  That got a smile out of him. “You know I can talk.”

  Andrew returned the smile. “Praying is that easy.”

  The salmon-colored clouds arranged in the sky like the dotted scales on a sunfish. They gradually faded into a long stretch of gray, giving the darkening landscape the appearance of an ancient sketch drawing. The moon was suspended high in the sky like a ghost emerging from the fog, and the flutelike songs of meadowlarks and wood thrushes faded away with the sunset as the sound of crickets and throaty toads welcomed the night. An osprey left its perch from a barbed wire fence and soared toward the pond in the distance where bending, ragged marsh grass dipped into the water.

  This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of Drake’s life, yet here he was, more interested in the wildlife outdoors than what was going on in his own life. Not surprisingly, his dad was out late doing who knew what while he watched the clock tick by. He shouldn’t have to live like this, a parent to his own dad—don’t blow all your money, don’t stay past curfew, don’t do drugs, don’t be a louse all your life. And on, and on, and on.

  Three more hours dragged by. Soon even the crickets and frogs got tired of their own singing and called it a night. This was ridiculous, and Drake was tired of waiting. His dad had probably drunk himself into a high again and was under a tree somewhere talking to his own shadow. Who knew anymore? Toss a coin.

  Drake ambled back into the living room and reclined on the couch with his feet elevated on the armrest. He didn’t know why, but at the strangest times, thoughts of his mom flooded his mind. He had only one picture of her holding him as a baby that he kept tucked away in his wallet. Though he realized he should be outraged with her for leaving him years ago, he couldn’t make himself resent her for what she had done.