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The moment I tossed my satchel onto the bed, Uncle Sean came slamming at the door. "Where you been?" were the first words from his mouth.
"New Orleans," I said, put off by his demanding manner.
"All by yourself?"
"No, I went with friends, if it's any of your business."
"It's very much my business. Who're these friends?"
"Uncle Sean, I don't understand why you're asking--"
"You should've discussed this with me, first."
"Why?"
"We've been in a panic for days, tryin' to find you. Takin' time away from my business. Thought maybe you'd been grabbed and sent back to Ireland." He was angry. Not as bad as Da would have been, but close to the same level as Ma after I'd gone off to Claudy--and it put my back up, to use a phrase I'd heard.
"Why would that happen? You said I was fine in the country. Legal."
"I never said legal. I said don't ask about it. Just like I haven't asked how you got a license to drive that goddamn bike, even though I got a pretty damn good idea. And if you had been grabbed, you'd have caused us all kinds of trouble."
And there it was. "So I'm not legal, in any way?"
He just got angrier. "What the hell do you think? I thought you were smart, Bren. Your visa expired over a year ago! Our lawyer said to leave it be. Do nothing. You're white so you won't be bothered so long as you keep your head down. But just runnin' off? Not a word to anybody? Us callin' all over town tryin' to find you? Callin' attention to you? If you'd been stopped, it wouldn't take some cop two seconds to figure out you ain't supposed to be here."
Now I was pissed. "So where am I supposed to be?!"
"You're supposed to be as invisible as possible. Runnin' around with black people's contrary to that."
"Black people? What're you on about?!"
He hesitated then snapped, "Jeremy called for you. Wanted to see if you were back from New Orleans, yet. He wouldn't say anything more, and I know Rene's from there, so I called the shop, yesterday mornin'. Should've called there, first thing, but I didn't want to get you in trouble. Instead, I find out you're gone to Mardi Gras with his kids and their families."
"Well, if you knew that, already, then why'd you ask where I was!? Who I was with?"
"Because a white boy with a bunch of black people--that screams for the cops to ask questions."
"They're Cajun."
"Their mother ain't. And truth is, there's only two colors of people in this town, Bren--white and the rest. You'd be smart to remember that." He turned to the door then stopped and snarled over his shoulder, "Don't ever do somethin' like this, again. If you do, I'll see to it you're sent back."
"Do it!" I snapped.
That made him turn to me, frowning. "What?"
"Do it!" Now there was a snarl in my voice and not one thought in my head as I spoke. I was burning on some instinct that had come up since the bombing, though what it was I did not understand, just yet. But I continued with, "Turn me in. Send me back. Explain to your officials how you had me living under your roof for well over two years and yet had no knowledge I'm in the country illegally. Call them now. I won't have this hanging over my head."
"Now you listen to me, you little shit--"
"I didn't ask to come here! I was brought, with no say in the matter, and you treat me like I'm a prisoner."
"We were helpin' you."
"You were helping the IRA keep me hidden! It was that or a bullet to the brain, wasn't it? For botching their stupid bloody operation! Killing someone I loved! Don't threaten me with being sent back, because you know bloody well it'd be to my death and that would prove YOU NEVER GAVE A TINKER'S DAMN ABOUT ME, YOU OR ANY OF--!"
He punched me. Sent me crashing to the floor. My ears rang something fierce. I could barely focus on the carpet. Not even Da's fists had brought that much pain to me.
I sort of made out that Aunt Mari had joined us and was saying, "What're you two on about? You can be heard through half the city."
"This selfish little shit doesn't give a damn about anybody but himself."
I forced myself to sit up, my breath short and harsh. There was blood in my mouth. I let it drip over my lips and down my chin as I glared at him and growled, "Make the call."
Both he and Aunt Mari looked at me, her confused, him not.
"You have a phone," I continued, my voice low and cruel. "Turn me in. Send me back to Derry. Do it, or bloody well shut up about it!"
Uncle Sean's fists bunched and he started at me, again, but Aunt Mari grabbed him and spun him around, then ushered him out. She came back to me, wet a towel, and started to clean the blood from my face but I pushed away from her.
I felt betrayed. Brutalized. I'd begun to build up a life based on nothing. Just untold lies and half-truths and no sort of foundation to steady me. Like a house on sand, eh, lad. And now I was being treated like a slave. Like some fool worth nothing. A fucking ghost. I could think of nothing pleasant to say to her.
Her voice was soft and hurt as she said, "Bren, he was worried for you."
I wiped some blood from my lip. "I can tell."
Her Irish caught up and her voice grew sharp. "Ya could have left us a note to let us know where ya were. It wasn't right for ya to just disappear, like that."
"So his anger is my fault."
"We have done everything we can to help ya and...and..."
Still all my fault. Bloody fucking hell. "It may be best I leave."
"No." That had startled her. "No, here yer safe."
"So long as I keep to the shadows? Or remain a ghost? There but not really there!? Here but not really here!? Don't you dare to live, Brendan, it might cause trouble. What sort of life is that?"
"It won't always be like this. I promise."
"Never promise what you can't deliver, Aunt Mari."
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