“How could I have been so stupid?” Steven’s mother said as he listened in. “I should’ve left when I had the chance. This is all my fault.”
“Where would you go?” Steven’s father said angrily, trying to keep his voice down as though he knew that the “other” Steven could hear. “You don’t have any family.”
“Any place would’ve been better than staying with you,” his mother shot back. “Especially, if I would’ve known you were going to shoot my son.”
“It was an accident!” Hector said, his brow furrowed in frustration. He glanced over to the hospital bed. “He’s my son, too.”
“You sure have a wonderful way of showing that he’s your son,” Mom said through clenched teeth.
Hector got up and walked over to the window, looking out at the gray sky.
Mom, sporting a dark blue overcoat and clutching a worn handbag, followed him, saying, “Ever since you got hooked on those drugs, you’ve paid attention to nothing else. Not your son, and not me. I guess family doesn’t really mean anything to you anymore.” She grabbed him, whirling him to face her. “The only family you think about are those people that got you hooked on that stuff.”
“I don’t need to deal with this right now,” Hector said, brushing past her, trying to walk out of the room.
Sprinting, Mom made it to the door and blocked his path. “Yes, you do, Hector. If you don’t deal with this now, I know for a fact that you won’t deal with it later.” Dark brown eyes watered with tears that splattered onto her coat. “When are you going to stop running away from your problems and confront them?”
“I am confronting them,” he said, running a pale hand through his straight, jet-black hair. “I’m going to get help for my drug problem.”
There was an uncomfortable pause in the room. Both of them knew it was a lie—a lie he told often, and a lie she had believed far too many times to count.
“You almost killed your son,” she said softly, her gaze landing on the machines standing guard next to Steven. “Your own flesh and blood, your seed, and there’s no telling whether he will survive.” She faced Hector, glaring at him. “You don’t think there’s a problem? I know there’s a problem. The fact that you pulled a gun on me—a gun for Christ’s sake!—says there’s a problem. The fact that we’re here says there’s a problem. You should be praying and asking for forgiveness.”
“Heather, didn’t you hear him? Steven already forgave me for that,” Hector said, lacing his hands on top of his head, as though trying to block out one memory or another.
She glared angrily at him and her voice became icy. “I’m talking about God—forgiveness from God.”
Hector grimaced, inching away from Heather’s anger. “God can’t do anything for me,” he growled. “He didn’t do anything for me when I was Steven’s age and He sure as hell hasn’t done much for me lately.”
Dad began pacing the room.
“Hector,” Mom began softly, placing a single hand on his shoulder. “I know that your mother was abused by your father, but you—”
“Don’t even say it.” Hector shrugged, removing her hand from his body. “I already know what you’re going to say.”
“What?”
Hector turned to look at her. “I’m going to have to forgive him. But why should I, after all that he did to my family?”
Steven’s mother looked up at Hector. “For the same reason Steven forgave you… it’s the right thing to do. When will this vicious cycle end? It should’ve ended with you!” She stepped out, covering the distance between them. “You swore that you would be a better man than your father. A better husband. A better father. But you’ve tried so hard not to be like him, you’ve become worse than he ever was.”
Hector whirled to face her, parting his mouth to speak.
She held up a single hand to silence him. “I’ve taken a lot from you, things that will take time for me to forgive, but I didn’t want Steven to experience this. I don’t want him to grow up and continue this thing. If he lives.” At that moment, Mom broke down in tears. “No, I mean—when, when he wakes up.”
But the words were out. If. If Steven lived. Was this the price he had to pay for his mom’s inability to leave a bad situation? Was this the price for Dad’s love of drugs—things that took him away from reality and into a land that had nothing to do with responsibility? Why did Steven have to pay the price? He’d been the innocent one in all this.
Hector crossed the room, touching the face of the Steven lying on the bed. “How are we going to be able to say that we have a family? More than likely, I’ll be in jail.”
“I really don’t know how that will work out, but you should try to work things out while you can. This is something you’re going to have to do on your own. The only reason I’m talking to you now is because I know Steven would want that. Otherwise, I would’ve had you shipped out of here the moment we came through the hospital doors, so you wouldn’t be able to have any contact with me or my son.”
Hector’s gaze fell to the white tiled floor. Mom was right; Dad was going to have to do it on his own. Could he? Would he?
Small delicate fingers curled around the lifeless one with an IV sticking out of the back side. The sound of a chair scraping across the tile took over all other sounds in the room for a moment. Hector placed the wide, tan leather chair right behind Mom. She sat down, still keeping Steven’s hand in hers. Watching for signs of life—any life—any movement. She bowed her head, and Steven knew at once that she was praying.
“Pssssst. Hey, Kid.”
Steven looked to the left of his space in the upper corner of the room. Another kid, about his age, with dark brown skin and a low-cut fade perched next to him. He wore a red and white striped shirt, jeans, and Air Force One sneakers. Steven wasn’t frightened. Somehow Steven knew that this “kid” was just like him—in between living and dying.