“Is there nothing we can do for your daughter?” Marcus asked quietly.

Carrie watched the disheveled figure of her stepfather from the other end of the kitchen table, crossed her arms, and then … looked away.

Marcus Chen Nianzhen, 66, didn’t appear like the CEO of a company that had kissed the Fortune 500—more like a ghost who had accidentally stumbled upon their cardboard box house here in the outskirts of Yuma, its dusty streets very far away from the glittering towers of steel, concrete, and glass in L.A.

“I could buy the school, you know,” Marcus said, his face straight.

Carrie blinked. “Buy a public school?”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “This is the United States. Since I settled here, I’ve found many things can be bought even if they are public.”

Carrie sighed. “I bet you have.”

Marcus grimaced. “I didn’t mean it like that. The parents have the primary responsibility.” She thought she saw something from very far away in time in his dark-brown eyes. “The parents of these children that harass Emma have all the responsibility.”

“Maybe you can pay them enough to take that responsibility seriously,” Carrie said through tight lips, “but I doubt it.” 

She was glancing at the shiny four-wheeler outside which had just rolled into the driveway of their neighbor, Beth Hanson.

Beth was all dolled up and waiting outside.

Her latest boyfriend jumped out of the vehicle and kissed Beth long and hard by way of a greeting. He grabbed her ass, as they walked in.

At that moment, Carrie thought that maybe if some personal Divine Entity really existed—like Marcus was adamant about—then ‘God’ would make this cowboy over there have a sudden heart attack in the doorway.

Then his obituary could be something like, “He died looking for love”. 

Then she remembered her stepfather and drove the thought far away. “When is your next hospital check?”

“Too soon. I would … rather just keep traveling with your mother. But that is not to be.”

Carrie smiled but felt sad at the same time.

How often had she not had the same dark thought about her stepfather as that drive-through boyfriend of Beth Hanson’s? But after too many heart operations for Marcus—and now a frigging skin cancer diagnosis on top of that … no.

Sitting there in his faded blue polo shirt and trousers too short on the legs, barely touching his glass of water, that wasn’t the man she had been so disgusted with all those years. He could’ve bought any clothes, and in earlier times he did. But now … 

Now Marcus was another victim of time, and while Carrie’s mother picked up Emma at school today, her husband was left here, in Carrie’s cubicle kitchen, and she and him were trying to find things to talk about.

And drinking water. After the latest hospital tour, Marcus had completely sworn off alcohol or anything with sugar.

It occurred to Carrie that she and her stepfather had never really … small-talked.

It had always been the big, loud arguments that they ended up with. Too big. About anything and everything, but mostly about things that weren’t the real issue. 

Their lives couldn’t have been more different, after all, and perhaps that was the exact reason that an unemployed housewife—with an autistic son and a daughter who talked about killing herself— had in all those years preferred the big, loud arguments.

Marcus had always seemed above normal life, especially after his quasi-religious flirtations and all the money he made from that project, too. He deserved some push-back, didn’t he? 

Now she was not so sure.

“A penny for your thoughts, Caroline.” Marcus had taken the glass with pills from his pocket and lined them up neatly on the kitchen table. There were many. Then he took out a pill-crusher and began grating the first one to fine dust.

“You can’t swallow pills?” Her question had a hint of incredulity. “I thought my son was the only one it was impossible to give any kind of pills.”

“I have never liked it,” Marcus said. “I have to force myself to swallow those that taste too awful to be grated, but the rest … ” He finished and poured the fine white dust into his water and dissolved it further with a spoon. “At least I can force myself. Will you be taking Michael to school later today?”

Carrie glanced into the living room. Six-year-old Michael Reese was deeply entranced with typing away at her old laptop, which was placed on the sofa table, with exactly the same space to each side. 

She bit her lip. “They didn’t give him enough to eat yesterday and I think he is coming up with something. I’d better keep him here today. We’ll see if he is in better shape to go tomorrow.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “But regarding Emma … there really is nothing your mother or I can do?”

Carrie shook her head and wiped something from her eye. “I don’t think so.”

Marcus looked at the remaining pills, the ones that had to be swallowed. “I’m … not used to that.”

For a moment, Carrie felt like touching his hand. But she didn’t. 

It occurred to her she never had held Marcus’ hand, not even at Christmas time. Only the perfunctory shake. 

“I’m used to being helpless,” she just said. “But when it comes to my daughter I won’t accept it.”

“You are considering moving her to a different school?”

“If it comes to that. As a last resort.”

Marcus picked up a lone blue pill and held it between two fingers, watching it closely. “A last resort. I wish I could buy that for everyone in the world.”

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CARRIE & MARCUS CHEN, FEB 2016

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Cover photo by Cristi Ursea on Unsplash

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