The End of Forever
Chapter One: Home Is Where The Heart IsAfter grabbing her last tip from her last customers for the night, Penelope wiped down the table top and made her way back to the back of the diner, removing her apron as she went. She was ready to go home -- home to her little rundown apartment on the south side of the city, home to her living room and her bedroom, and even her boyfriend.
Penny sighed as Tony's face flashed in her mind. She was pretty sure that she loved him, and almost as sure that he loved her, too. Whatever problems they were having, she knew she could chalk up to just a rough patch. Every relationship had them. It was normal. They were normal. Well, as normal as Penelope had ever felt, being Taylor Hanson's daughter.
It wasn't a piece of information that she offered up willingly to just anybody, and it had been years since anyone had figured it out on their own. Tony knew, but she'd only told him after a few months of dating, when their relationship had seemed to be becoming stagnant. She'd told him because she was afraid he was becoming bored, that her life wasn't interesting enough for him. And it had worked to keep him around, though some days she wondered how bad it could have been to let him go.
Penelope swiped her time card through the machine on the wall to punch herself out for the night, and then retrieved her purse from the cabinet beneath the register, inconspicuously shoving around half of her tips into it, while putting the rest in her pocket for cab fare and to show Tony. She waved at a couple of the girls still working the tables as she left the diner, the bell above the door jingling in her escape.
Outside, the mid-March air was chilly. It was probably warm by Tulsa's standards, but she hadn't been there in so long that her body had adjusted. She'd pretty much forgotten what March felt in the little rural town her parents had called their hub of existence. They'd traveled around the world, but they'd always called Tulsa home. Penny wondered if she'd ever feel at home anywhere but Tulsa. Some days, when things were exceptionally rough in Los Angeles, she swore nowhere else ever would.
Penelope hailed a cab and crawled into the backseat, spilling out the address to the driver as she wrapped her arms around her middle. Despite the weather, there was something else settling inside of the young girl. It was more than the dread or apprehension she sometimes felt heading home. She couldn't put a finger on it, but it chilled her all the way to the bones, making her feel restless as she watched the city pass by her in streaks of lights -- reds and greens and whites -- from the grimy window to her side.
She'd wanted this, she always had to remind herself. She wanted the rough life, wanted to work hard, and she wanted to make it. She wanted to be somebody other than the only daughter of Taylor Hanson -- that guy in that band that was popular in the nineties.
Penelope heaved a deep breath, passing some money over the front seat before getting out. As the cab drove off, she stared up at the building in front of her. Home. The physical location she had chosen to place herself. When she left home, she'd had dreams tucked away in her pockets. Dreams that she'd felt slipping out of her grasp as the days went by, carried away like sand in the wind, scattered and incomplete. She'd wanted to be an actress, had wanted to see her name lit up in lights, rolling down with the rest of the credits. She wanted to stand on her own and know that she'd made it, that she'd done it all herself. She couldn't do it by herself, though. Which is why Tony was inside waiting for her to come home.
With that in mind, Penelope picked up her feet and moved toward her apartment. She dragged her feet through the foyer with mail oozing from mailboxes with broken doors and hinges, past the elevator that had been out of order since she'd moved in two years ago, up three flights of stairs that creaked under her weight, and straight to her door -- apartment 4C -- behind which was the life she'd chosen to lead. She stared at the chipping blue paint, the dull numbers stuck crookedly in front of her face, and took a deep breath. She could hear voices from the other side, which meant he was entertaining guests, which meant he was either stoned or drunk -- or both.
"Penny! Babe!" She cringed on the inside, but forced a smile for Tony's best friend Adam, who greeted her enthusiastically before she'd even had the chance to fully step into the small apartment.
"Jonas," she mumbled by way of a greeting as the door clicked closed behind her, and she secured the deadbolt lock. Jonas was Tony's best friend and he'd always given off a weird vibe that kept Penelope on guard around him. She'd even talked to Tony about it before, but he'd said that that was just the way Tony was. To deal with it.
"Come have a seat!" The bleach blonde best friend said, patting the couch next to him. On the floor in front of the couch, Tony paused the game they were playing and craned his neck around to look at her for the first time since she'd come in. Turning her main focus back to Jonas, she saw that he was still watching her with big, hopeful, dilated eyes. Stoned. Penelope was not surprised.
"Not this time," she said, clutching her purse closer to her side as she stepped around the clutter on the living room floor. "I'm going to change and then start dinner."
"Don't you have something for me, Penny girl?" Tony piped up, still sitting on the floor in front of the couch.
She wanted to say something flippant and rude about how she was starting to think he was deaf and stupid because she'd already told him a hundred different times not to call her Penny girl, but she didn't. "That depends on what you're talking about," she called back smartly, instead, just before closing the door of their bedroom. The truth was, she knew exactly what he was talking about. Despite his inability to obtain or hold a job, Tony felt entitled to her hard earned money. That's why she always kept half of her tips stashed away in an old tampon box in the bathroom. Too manly to even think of touching the things, he'd never find it there. She wasn't sure she had a plan in mind when it came to actually using it, but it was a comfort to know that it was there if she needed it.
Once she'd changed out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable, and deposited the secret half of her tips into the box, Penelope left the bedroom, only to find that Jonas was no longer there. Tony had sent him home. As much as Penny didn't really like Jonas, or the fact that he was a bigger mooch than Tony, she liked the way he acted as a buffer between the two without even knowing it. The fact that Tony had sent him home meant she and Tony were going to get into it again, and she hated getting into it with Tony.
Without question or comment, Penelope passed over the folded wad of cash on her way to the kitchen. Already counting it, Tony followed her in, coming to a stand next to her while she scoured the pantry for something to cook. It was looking like rice again, or maybe ramen. Neither option sounded good. Both had outstayed their appeal after solid weeks of nothing but.
When Tony sighed behind Penelope, she tensed, waiting for the ax to fall. Slowly, she turned to around to see him looking at her.
"There's barely fifty dollars here," he pointed out, his voice thick and stony. "You worked extra today, you should have at least twice this much!"
Penelope thought about the other half of the money, already stowed away in the tampon box in the bathroom. Her safety net, maybe, if she ever allowed it to save her. "There's some change too," she said, never alluding to the fact that there was more hidden away somewhere, "and I had to use some for a cab to get home."
"Fuck the cab, Penny! Walk."
The frown on Penelope's face deepened and she slinked back farther against the closed door of the pantry. "It's dark and we're not in a good part of town…"
"Well, fuck!" He snapped and Penny flinched. "Why the fuck haven't your parents sent us money this month?"
Penelope bit her lip, not wanting to answer the question. She didn't actually have an answer to that one. Her parents had been sending her money every month since she'd moved from Tulsa to Los Angeles nearly two years ago. At first she had fought it, didn't want the help. She wanted to do it all on her own, to prove that she could. But then she realized she couldn't, she needed the help. She hated depending on them, but they continued to send the money regardless and when it came down to it, she was grateful to have that extra income when she started getting shut off notices on her utilities and needing things like cab fare and toiletries. Unfortunately, Tony had an easier time counting on the monthly checks than Penelope did.
"I don't know," she said softly, dipping her chin down to her chest.
"What did you say?" Tony answered, his voice louder, more irritated than it had been moments before. He was getting angrier by the moment. Penny had witnessed this kind of mood swing before, and it never turned out well, but she hadn't figured out a way to tame the fire. "Speak up, Penelope!"
Chin up, Penelope stared her boyfriend in the eyes. "I said I don't know," she said firmly, and she really didn't know. Her parents' checks came in the mail like clockwork, but not this month, and she hadn't had the heart to give them a call and ask why. She'd done so well fighting them for so long, after all. She didn't want them to know just how bad things were in L.A. She was supposed to be soaking up the sun, going to auditions, meeting people and being happy. She was doing none of these things. She was pale, broke, lonely, and miserable.
"Did you already get it?" Tony accused, stepping forward and towering over her. Penelope shook her head, but her throat had begun to close up, so she couldn't force herself to verbally deny the claim. "You already cashed it, didn't you?"
"No!" She denied then, the muscles in her stomach clenching.
"Are you hiding money from me?" Penelope shook her head, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye. She hated when he got this way, when he treated her like this. She grew up with a bunch of boys -- of all of her brothers and all of her cousins, she was the only girl. She didn't grow up to be such a girl.
A sharp smack in the face brought more tears to her eyes and she crumpled to the floor after she heard the front door slam. He was gone for now, but he'd be back. He always came back.
-----
Penelope sat in the dark, empty apartment, her knees tucked away beneath her chin and her eyes remaining fixed out the small window just above the television. Though the stinging from the slap on her face had long since subsided, Tony had yet to return home. It was like him to run out after hitting her and not come back for a few hours, but it was nearing two o'clock in the morning, and that was not normal. She hated that she was, but she was worried.
Next to her, Penny's cell phone sat on the end table, silently taunting her. She'd yet to go to bed because she wanted to be right by the phone and wide awake in case it rang, incase he called her, incase something was wrong. She'd been sitting for hours, willing the thing to ring, but it hadn't, and she was slowly starting to give up hope of it doing so. He'd be back, she knew. If she would just go to bed and let herself fall asleep, she'd wake up in the morning and he'd be next to her, stroking her face, offering all of the apologies and excuses in the world. Or he'd be hung over and dead to the world, but at least he'd be there next to her and she could take care of him and stop worrying so much.
A ragged sigh escaped from between her parted lips, and she dropped her sock covered feet to the carpeted floor. She wouldn't wait for him all night. He wouldn't, after all, stay up all night and worry about her if she were out. It took all the energy she had left in her body to pull herself up from the couch, setting her mind to sleep mode.
She reached for her phone still sitting with a blank face on the end table next to the couch, and jumped when it rang, just before her slender fingers wrapped around the plastic casing. Without even looking at the front, she answered, relief coursing through her, and only a tinge of fear.
"Babe, I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, wrapping her free arm around her stomach as she started pacing the floor in the dark living room. "I didn't mean to upset you. Come home so we can talk about it."
"Penny?" The word came cautious and strained, and Penelope came to a complete stop in the dark. "Penelope, baby…"
"Mom?" She recognized the voice immediately, but the tone sent up red flags. Her mother sounded worn, exhausted. Plus, it was after four o'clock in the morning in Tulsa. She knew her mother got up early, but that early? Or had she been up late? And why did she sound so worried and worn? On the other end of the line, Natalie let out a breath that made Penelope think she was trying to fight back tears. "Mom, what's wrong?"
"It's your dad," Natalie said, and much like her mother sounded, Penelope's throat constricted. She wasn't one to worry over many things; her family was a rock, her rock, even when she was so far away. But the thought that it was so important that her mother would call her in the middle of the night sent a trickle of fear up Penelope's spine. She twitched a little, keeping the phone pressed against her ear, trying to rid herself of the sinking feeling taking over her body.
"What's wrong?" Penelope was expecting the worst. Maybe there'd been an accident; he had always been the type to stay out way too late, to consider himself invincible. He pushed himself too hard, strived to much for a level of perfection that he'd never attain. Maybe he'd had a lapse in judgment.
A swirl of thoughts, each one worse than the one before, clouded the young girl's mind as she waited for her mother to respond. It felt like hours -- days -- before she got a response, but it was probably only a matter of seconds.
"He's sick, Penny," Natalie said, the tone of her voice turning soft and consoling, as though she hadn't been fighting back her own tears only moments before. Penelope was the only girl in the family, she knew emotions, and she knew her mother. Her stomach twisted in apprehension, in guilt, in pure, unadulterated fear.
"What kind of sick?" She asked, but her whole body was tense, like she wasn't sure she really wanted to know.
"Are you sitting?" Natalie asked and, on stiff and trembling legs, Penelope dropped down to the couch.
"Yeah," she breathed, praying that whatever was coming next wouldn't knock the wind out of her. "I'm sitting."
"He's got cancer, baby," Natalie cooed, soft like consoling a small child.
Penelope wasn't sure if she should, but she felt almost relieved. People survived cancer all the time. It wasn't so bad. He could afford the best care, the treatments. He was a trooper, after all, and a fighter. He'd already fought for so much in his life. He still had so much more life to live.
"So he's going to get started on chemo?" She prodded, the wheels already turning in her head. The treatments would make him weak, feel sick but, in the end, they would save his life. He'd be stronger because of it.
Hesitantly, Natalie said, "no."
"No?" Enraged, Penelope stood to her feet, her knees jelly beneath her and hardly strong enough to keep her upright. "What do you mean no? You're just going to let him die?"
"Baby--"
"Stop calling me baby! I'm not a fucking baby," she snapped and, though she felt a little guilty, she didn't have it in her to recoil or apologize. "Why isn't he going to get treatment? Does he want to die?"
That thought brought a rise of panic within her. Her father had struggled with depression off an on for most of his adult life. It was a job hazard, he'd always joked. Even her uncles Isaac and Zac and struggled with the same things. Artist disease or whatever it was they wanted to call it. This cancer -- the thought made her feel bitter and sick -- would be the perfect out for him if he wanted it. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't him taking his life, but it wouldn't be him saving it, either.
"It's too far advanced for the Chemotherapy treatments to do any good," Natalie explained, her voice somber. She was back to being on the verge of tears and, though Penelope was sure she hadn't helped the situation or the cause, she couldn't bring herself to apologize. She listened as her mother choked back a sob. "We wanted him to spend what little time he has left as healthy as he can."
As the idea of death settled into Penelope's bones, a gasp escaped between her teeth. "How little time?" She asked, her voice tiny, childlike, and unsure.
"The doctors said," Natalie started, sucking in a sharp intake of air. She was struggling for footing, herself, for comfort, for the waking pinch. "Only a few weeks."
A few weeks. Penelope's head spun in circles, making her dizzy. She dropped back down to the couch, barely catching herself on the arm as she fell. She hadn't seen her father in two years, off chasing pipedreams, and they were only going to give her a few weeks to make up for lost time? How was that even possible?
"I'm coming home," she said, as sure as the sky was blue that she had to be there as soon as possible. She had to make up for lost time, to be there to hold her mother up.
"I'll book you a ticket," Natalie sniffled, and Penelope could hear the relief in her mother's voice.
She thought about her job at the diner that she hated, and Tony who'd hit her and yet to return. She mapped out her entire apartment, tiny, and cluttered, and suffocating. And she thought about the stash of money in the tampon box in her bathroom. Her escape money.
"I'll get it," she said to her mother with confidence, "don't worry about it. I'll be there as soon as I can."