Fighting for Keeps

by Jennifer Snow

  Please let the other one be better.

  She held her breath as she studied the blue Chevrolet. It looked almost brand-new on the inside with upholstery on the seats instead of leather and a dark charcoal interior she hoped would hide damage and dirt better. She breathed a sigh of relief, despite the single CD player and the standard windows.

  “Hi, I’m Doug Cooper, the used-car manager,” said a tall, thin man. Despite the June heat, he was wearing a Windbreaker-style dealership jacket over his polo shirt and dress pants. His comb-over flapped slightly in the breeze and the faint smell of cigarettes followed him like a haze.

  She breathed it in deeply, realized what she was doing and shook her head.

  Doug Cooper had to be a relative of Brent’s, obviously, though she couldn’t find any resemblance between the two men. “I thought they were called ‘previously enjoyed’?”

  He laughed, revealing a few missing teeth. “Right. And last year, they were called ‘pre-owned,’ the year before that ‘lightly travelled.’ All means the same and until they decide on one term and stick to it, my business card says Used-Car Manager.”

  He handed her one of his cards.

  “See anything you like?”

  She glanced toward the new Charger across the lot. “Yes...but, unfortunately, I need a minivan.” She almost choked on the word.

  “Sorry to say, we have little to choose from right now. They are what we like to call lifer vehicles. You know, you buy one and have it for life...or until the kids move out,” he said with a laugh.

  She cringed. Here we go again.

  “You starting a family?” he asked, glancing at her stomach.

  More like trying to survive being handed one. “Sort of. Anyway, the blue one? How much?” She hoped it was in her price range. Paying even more than she planned for something she didn’t want would be torture.

  “Sticker price is fifteen thousand.”

  Five more than she’d been hoping to pay. She knew the blue-book price for her Jeep would be about ten or eleven and she still owed several grand on the financing. “Any wiggle room?”

  He winked and it was more of a double-eye blink. “Always. You got a trade?”

  “Yes. A 2011 Jeep Wrangler.”

  He studied her. “Can’t fit a car seat or two in the back?”

  “Can’t fit two car seats, two booster seats and a moody preteen in the back.”

  His eyes widened then his expression took on a blend of sympathy and admiration. “Wow...okay...let’s make this work for you.”

  He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. “I’ve been dying for one of these. You smoke?” he asked, extending the pack toward her.

  “I do today.”

  * * *

  “I STILL CAN’T believe Ben didn’t even make it to the funeral,” Lily said a week later, sitting in the dining room at the bed-and-breakfast, which Victoria had closed to guests until they had time to adjust and figure out what to do next.

  The kids had finally settled down for the night and Lindsay could barely keep her eyes open. Double shifts at the clinic had never left her feeling as drained as taking care of five children every day. Thankfully she had Leigh, who’d helped her with the boys that week, letting them play with the other children at her day care next door.

  Dealing with Melissa’s adjustment to her parents’ death and the twin girls, who were teething and being potty-trained was challenging enough. Three disgusting accidents that week and she’d caved and bought the training pull-ups Rachel had been trying to avoid using.

  Sorry, Rach. You were a brilliant mother and I’m just a crappy substitute.

  “I mean not only was he Nathan’s friend and business partner, but he’s the other legal guardian as godfather.” Lily shook her head.

  “He’s only really been godfather in name only, as far as I can tell. He rarely visits. They usually go to him in Newark, in his big, fancy house. The kids always come back with tons of gifts...” Lindsay shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe Nathan didn’t really expect him to step up.” She sipped her wine. Her nightly glass had turned into her reward for making it through the day.

  “Has he even called? Once?”

  “No.” But she was almost relieved. She already had too many decisions to make regarding the kids and their future. Trying to incorporate someone else into her plans would be difficult. “I remember Rachel saying something a few weeks ago about him and Nathan being at odds about a new client or something.” She shrugged. “Whatever. It’s not like I need him.”

  What she needed was an army to help her put things back on track for her and the kids, but for now she’d settle for coming to at least one firm decision. Every time she thought she’d made one, doubt—aka her mother’s voice—shook her confidence.

  “Has Melissa gone back to school yet?” Lily tucked her legs under her on the couch.

  “No. It’s been less than two weeks. I’m giving her more time. In fact, school’s out soon, I may not send her back at all until September.”

  Lily clamped her mouth shut.

  “You don’t think that’s a good idea?”

  “Who knows what a good idea is at this point, Linds? I just think maybe it might help her to be around her friends and not hiding in her bedroom all day. Get her mind off her parents for a little while.”

  “Maybe...I don’t know. I’ll add it to the list of things I’m probably going to screw up in these children’s lives.” Her chest tightened and she forced another sip of wine.

  Lily offered a sympathetic smile. “You’re going to do fine.”

  “I killed that cactus you gave me for my birthday.”

  Lily shook her head and smiled. “A cactus is a dumb plant anyway. Do they need water? Don’t they need water?” Suddenly she looked serious again. “When are you going to tell them about moving?”

  Good question. The one firm decision she had made was that she needed to move the kids to her house sooner rather than later. The three oldest were still sleeping in their parents’ bed every night and she always fell asleep in the chair beside them. Not good for them and not good for her.

  She only had another week off work and her job was too critical for her to be falling asleep on her feet.

  She shivered. The thought of returning to the clinic after the accident made her uneasy. “I’ll tell them tomorrow...or this weekend.” She bit her lip.

  Lily shot her a look.

  “Okay, tomorrow. They are going to hate me.” She buried her face in the crook of her arm resting on the table in front of her.

  “No, they won’t. They might be upset about leaving their home, but without Rachel and Nathan, this isn’t their home anymore anyway. The six of you have to build a new home.”

  Six of you.

  From one to six. Just like that.

  * * *

  NOAH LAY STARING at his ceiling, his heavy duvet pulled high up around his neck, despite it being summer. A chill ran through him and the back of his head throbbed. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he’d been run over by a truck.

  Reluctantly removing one arm from under the covers, he reached for his watch on the bedside table, squinting in the early morning sunlight. Eight-thirty. He had half an hour before he was supposed to meet Dominic at the community center.

  Joanne had also mentioned that she was bringing along another volunteer from the MENTOR program who was interested in getting involved—a certified social worker. He wanted to be there to show this new person around and hopefully convince them to donate some of their time. The program needed it. Maybe with more staff, he’d be able to spend a little less time there and focus more on training in the coming weeks.

  Time to man up.

  He tossed the duvet back and immediately goose bumps covered his body. Rubbing hi
s arms for warmth, he noticed that while he may be freezing his flesh was hot to the touch. He felt his forehead. Scorching. Great, a fever. A month away from his next fight, he didn’t have time to be sick. He pushed himself up from the bed and ignored the muscle-aching pain shooting through his legs and back. A hot shower was all he needed. Turning the water as high as he could, he removed his boxer briefs and climbed in. Ten minutes later, knowing he would soon drain the boiler of any heat, he reluctantly turned off the taps and climbed out. Even the plush towel felt rough against his skin as he tied it at his waist and made his way to the kitchenette in the bachelor-suite apartment. Opening his fridge, he removed a bottle of Gatorade and took a gulp, then winced as razor blades coursed down his throat. He reached for his neck and felt the swollen glands. Fantastic, he really was sick.

  Maybe he should call Joanne and let her know he wouldn’t make it in. He didn’t want to pass this on to any of the kids at the community center.

  No. He had to go. New volunteers were rare, especially qualified ones from the MENTOR program; he couldn’t miss this meeting. Pulling on his jeans and a T-shirt, Noah grabbed his wallet and keys and headed for the door. With the program already on thin ice and lacking stability with his absence, he needed to be there when he said he would be. He hoped this new volunteer saw the value of the Turnaround program as much as he did.

  * * *

  “HEY, CARL, HAVE you seen Dominic?” Noah asked as he entered the hall a few moments later. He’d checked the outside basketball and tennis courts, but the teenager had been nowhere around. He didn’t appear to be inside, either.

  “No, haven’t seen him at all today.” The tutor from the high school shrugged as he set up a table with calculators and sample math tests for the kids writing their assessment exams for summer school the following morning.

  Dominic never missed a week. Noah hoped he hadn’t already given the kid whatever flu virus was destroying his body. He coughed and it felt as if his throat was on fire. “So, how is everything going?” he asked Carl, his voice scratchy.

  “Okay. The ones that really want help are doing great. The ones who don’t...” He shrugged.

  “We do what we can,” he said, even though he wanted to punch somebody.

  Joanne smiled at him through the office window, and noticing another woman with her, he relaxed a little. Getting interested volunteers to show up was half the battle.

  An hour later, feeling confident that they’d just recruited the social worker for the program, he shut off the bike in the driveway of Dominic’s four-plex housing unit near the highway. A couple of teenagers sat on the shared front deck, smoking, as one of them fixed a rusted chain on a ten-speed bike on the lawn.

  Smoking. That habit hadn’t been “cool” since the seventies. It amazed him kids still even started the disgusting habit.

  He thought of Lindsay, smoking the night of the funeral, and wondered how long she’d been a smoker. And how he could help her kick it without driving her crazy.

  “Hey, guys,” he said, walking up the gravel path toward the house.

  The oldest boy nodded, folding his thin arms as menacingly as possible across his chest. “You a cop?”

  “No, a friend of Dominic’s. He around?”

  “Upstairs, I think,” the boy said, eyeing the motorcycle.

  Reaching into his pocket, Noah retrieved a twenty-dollar bill and handed it over. “Make sure she’s sitting there when I come out.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up as he tucked the money into his cigarette pack. “You got it, man.”

  Noah opened the front door and took the wooden staircase two steps at a time. The smell of pot in the hallway was overwhelming and a stack of beer-bottle boxes stood against the wall. He knew this scene all too well. He’d gotten out...away from something similar...barely. He’d hoped he could help Dominic do the same. He knocked on the door. “Hello, Ms. Cage?”

  The door opened a second later and Marilyn Cage smiled when she saw him. “Noah.” She let him in then gave him a big hug. “Great to see you.”

  “You, too. How have you been?” The home was spotless and, unlike the smell in the hallway, inside the tempting aroma of homemade chicken soup made his mouth water. He hadn’t eaten since the night before.

  “Good...tired a lot as usual.”

  Dominic’s mother had lupus and it drained her strength. Though it didn’t seem to stop her from keeping her home clean and cooking for her and Dominic. He admired the woman for doing her best with the situation she found herself in.

  Dominic’s father had a gambling addiction and had left the family when the boy was seven. Alone and dealing with an illness that prevented her from working many hours, Marilyn and Dominic had been forced to give up their home in a better part of town.

  “Is Dominic home? I was expecting him at the community center today.” He covered a cough with his arm.

  She frowned. “You sound awful. Let me give you some soup and I’ll get Dom. He’s in his bedroom.”

  He knew it was no use to argue on the soup, and he was dying for it anyway. “Thanks, Ms. Cage.”

  Going into the kitchen, he sat at the small table and, noticing the unsteady way it shifted to the right, he bent to look at the table legs. Unscrewing one, he readjusted the height and secured it in place. He nudged the table: solid. Good, he’d at least earned his soup.

  “Hey, Noah,” Dominic said, appearing in faded Superman pajama pants and a light blue shirt.

  Noah glanced at his watch. “It’s almost ten. Pajamas? You sick?”

  “Nah, just hanging around.” The boy shrugged.

  “Well, you’re supposed to be hanging around at the center. I dragged my sick butt out of bed to meet you,” he said.

  Marilyn set two bowls of soup on the table in front of them, and offered Noah a bread roll.

  “Thank you,” Noah said, dipping it into the soup.

  Dominic sat across from him, but didn’t touch his soup. “Sorry, didn’t feel like it.”

  “Okay, so tell me, how did the test go?” He held his breath as he waited.

  “I passed.”

  “That’s great!”

  The kid shrugged again.

  “I don’t get it. Why aren’t you more excited?” Dominic had tried three times to pass the test. He should be jumping over the moon now.

  “It’s not like it matters or anything.” He slumped lower in the chair.

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t afford a car.”

  Marilyn’s face fell.

  “Not right now, but eventually. Besides, I told you I’d teach you to drive the motorcycle.” His head felt like a hundred pounds on his shoulders and his eyes were barely staying open, but a promise was a promise.

  “You mean the motorcycle that was just boosted from the driveway?”

  The sound of his bike roaring down the street made him jump up, spilling the hot soup on the tablecloth. “Sorry, Marilyn. I’ll clean that—”

  “Don’t worry about it, go get your bike,” she said, already cleaning up the mess.

  Swinging open the door, Noah rode the banister to the bottom of the stairs and burst through the front door. Turning to the kid he’d paid to watch his bike, he said, “Hey, man, my bike?”

  “Linc’s only taking it for a spin, he’ll bring it back.” The kid shrugged.

  “I paid you to keep an eye on it.” He couldn’t believe this. Hands on his hips, he scanned the street, but there was no sign of his motorcycle or this Linc.

  “You said make sure it was here when you came out. You didn’t say not to drive it in the meantime, and we didn’t think you’d be out so quick.”

  * * *

  “AH, THERE’S THE MAN I was waiting for. Maybe now we can get some of these heavier items moved,” Luke said, slapping Jim
on the back just as Noah’s motorcycle pulled into the B and B that evening.

  “Hey! I’d like to help, but you know I hurt my back bowling the other night,” Jim said.

  “Sorry, I forgot you were an old man,” Luke replied.

  Lindsay smiled at the friends’ exchange. She set a box of clothing inside the minivan and felt her cheeks flush as she watched Noah remove his helmet and turn off the bike.

  “You asked Noah to help?”

  Despite his offer to help with anything she may need him for, she hadn’t spoken to him since the funeral. Since the kiss and harsh words in the gazebo.

  She didn’t want to rely on Noah...or anyone...but especially not Noah. What good could come of that?

  The idea of dating anyone at all was almost comical...in a dark comedy sort of way.

  “Yeah. Is that okay? I saw him this morning when I was on my way to pick up the moving van and he offered his burly biceps and superhuman strength.” Luke grinned, watching as her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, she was sure.

  “Oh...okay. Yeah...it’s fine.” She tried to look busy as Noah approached.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late. I had to wait for my motorcycle to be returned to me,” he said.

  She frowned. “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” He touched her cheek. “How are you?”

  Stressed, exhausted and not at all sure she was doing the right thing. “I’m good.”

  He studied her and she didn’t believe for a second he’d bought her lie, but he squeezed her shoulder gently and said, “Great to hear that.” His eyes held hers a second too long and she glanced away. “I’m here and ready to work. Where can I start?”

  “I need help moving the crib pieces out of the girls’ room,” Luke told him, climbing the front stairs.

  “Sure,” Noah returned. But once Luke disappeared inside, he hesitated and looked at Lindsay. “How are you really doing?”

  May as well be honest. “I’m surviving.”

  “It will get better.”