We're All Broken

by O. L. Gregory

“Because the deed is done.” After all, he’d shot that guy and the dead cat carcass was still on the road when he drove back. “And he’s going to be locked up for decades, where he can’t kill any other innocent person on the road. So, literally, no good can come from it. And there was something to what you said about him being miserable, without his coping mechanism of choice.”

  “So, you’re content with the punishment bestowed upon him?”

  “Look, I didn’t say I was happy or nothing. If he were to end up dead, I’d laugh with glee and dance on his grave. But I no longer feel the need to instigate it’s occurrence.”

  The therapist nodded and jotted her notes. “And how’re the apps doing?”

  Roger’s face brightened. “I did it! I’ve made more than enough to provide for my kids the last two months. Honestly, I think I’m ready to bring in another coder. There’s this guy I’ve been talking with, Max. He’s a little on the young side, but he’s got awesome ideas. And I think younger is the way to go, you know? He’s more in tune with the demographic doing most of the buying. He knows what they want.”

  The therapist looked impressed. “It sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this. So, you’ve decided you like the business end of it more, then?”

  “Max is interested in both aspects, just like I am. I figure, together, we can make it all happen. See, I’ve figured that what I like best about what I’m doing is that I see it all through, end-to-end. Getting someone who likes that aspect, too, really gives me someone to bounce ideas off of, who will know what I’m talking about, because he’s seen what I’ve seen.”

  The therapist nodded. “I’m going to send a report into the judge, reflecting all of this. I can’t control anything anyone else puts in their reports, but I will recommend that we start reintegrating your children into your homelife.”

  Roger beamed.

  “Mr. Hayes, we’re here today, because it has been brought to my attention that you have made strides in your recovery,” the judge said.

  Roger merely nodded, having already learned that the less he said, the better.

  “I see noted that your overall outlook has improved. You’re taking better care of yourself. Your social worker popped in on you at home last week, and it was found to be clean and orderly. His reports indicate that while supervised visitation may have started out awkward between you and the children, all seem happy during the visits. All of your children report that you are pleasant and entertaining. And Penny, in particular, expresses a desire to return home to you."

  Roger noted the expectant look on the judge's face and figured it was safe to respond. "I'm relieved to hear they feel the same way I do."

  "I'm now comfortable is starting the process of releasing your children back into your home. Please understand, for the sake of your continued mental health, this will be a slow process. I will not risk overwhelming you and having anything backslide. The court will not respond well to further custody pursuits, should there be any legal slipups."

  Roger could only nod.

  "That said, if you should feel overwhelmed, at any step, please feel free to speak up, and your therapists will be authorized to slow the pace. We can even backtrack a step. The goal here is for you to catch the overwhelmed feeling, and deal with it, before you spiral out of control. Understand?"

  "Yes, your Honor."

  "Alright, it has been explained to me that the best option for the children is to allow them to migrate within the same subgroups they have been divided into for their placements. It is also felt that Penelope should be the first, and being that she is the only one alone in her placement. I've spoken to Penelope about this plan, and the minor child is looking forward to it. Therefore, Penelope Rebecca Hayes shall return into her father’s, Roger Edmond Hayes, custody on Fridays at four, until Sundays at six, unsupervised, in the family home."

  Roger allowed himself a smile.

  "Mr. Hayes, understand that all of your therapies will continue, to ensure this first transition runs smoothly."

  "Yes, your Honor."

  "In the meantime, your income is variable. As such, I suggest you start a savings, as your business continues to grow, so you have something to lean on, if your sales should slip in the future."

  No, shit. "Yes, your Honor." Roger heard the threat just as clearly as if the man had screamed it.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  "I can't believe I'm finally home!" I said, looking around the living room, my backpack looped over my shoulder.

  "Me neither, baby," Daddy said. "I'd rather it be all of us, for good. But I'm so grateful we're all at least headed in the right direction, again."

  "Where's my room, now?"

  Daddy's eyebrow crinkled. "Same place it's been since we moved here. Where else would it be?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. I was told not to assume anything, and that your work office is now in the house."

  He smiled at me. "We're working out of the room that has always been my office."

  "But, isn't it kinda small for two ppl to work from? That guy must have to listen to all of your calls."

  "Right you are," Dad said with a wink. "Sometimes he comes out to the dining room to work. But I'm in the middle of fixing all that. I have contractors coming four days a week to finish off the basement. I'm putting in a large office and a home gym."

  "Why a gym?"

  He seemed quiet for a moment, but then smiled. "Sitting at computers all day has Max and I putting on a little weight. We're going to exercise a half hour every day."

  I frowned at him.

  "What?"

  "You've always worked at a computer. You never felt the need to work out before."

  "There was a gym on the first floor of the office building I worked in."

  "You know, you don't have to lie to me."

  "Aw, Penny. Using my own words against me?"

  I shrugged, if I was supposed to be honest with him, shouldn't he be honest with me? I let out a sigh and turned for the stairs.

  "Exercise helps me focus on good things."

  I turned back to him, hitching the bookbag strap higher on my shoulder. "Really?"

  He nodded. "Whenever I feel angry or frustrated, I go exhaust myself on the treadmill. Getting the energy out clears my head so I can think things through."

  "It fixes your broken brain?"

  He chuckled. "My brain isn't broken, just unbalanced."

  "Huh?"

  "The brain is full of electrical impulses and chemicals, and strong emotions can throw off the balance of it all and kind of make it short circuit. Exercise distracts you from your strong emotions and the brain can focus on the problem, instead of on your feelings about it. Does that make sense?"

  "Yeah, I think so."

  "Good."

  "But aren't you supposed to be saving money up, for in case your game doesn't make enough money again?"

  "I am, kiddo, trust me. I took out a small business loan for the renovations."

  "They gave you a business loan to change the house?"

  "I'm using it to establish office space. We'll use the door down there for its own entrance. There're be a sign out on the road, and a stone driveway, with a couple of parking spaces, all leading to that side door. There's going to be room for up to four employees, and I’ll still have my private office up here for phone calls."

  "The game is going to take up four employees? Wow."

  Dad smiled. "We're working on more than just the one game. For instance, Max has a really cool app idea. I want to pay him not only to help me with my apps, but also to work on his own ideas."

  "Like getting paid to work on his hobbies?"

  "Yeah, and help him with his ideas. We'll do the app right, with quality graphics and marketing, which makes it worth it to him to work with me. And he'll get a share of the profits, because the app was his idea, even though it'll be published and sold under my company name."

  "That's cool. Can I learn to write apps?"

  "I'd
love to write apps with you. Now go put your stuff away, while I go see if dinner is done."

  "You cooked?"

  "I'm becoming the king of dump dinner slow cooking."

  "Huh?"

  "Throw the ingredients in the pot, put the lid on, and dinner takes care of itself."

  * * * * * * * * * *

  An hour west of home, Roger sat across the parking lot from a beer distributor. Watching, waiting, fishing for a dangerous lawbreaker. Across the way, a group of three college-aged girls were struggling to lift a keg into the back of a station wagon one of their mothers probably handed down to her.

  Roger was tempted to get out of his car and lend them a hand. It’d be the decent thing to do. But he didn’t want to risk drawing attention to himself, in case anyone here now was questioned later on.

  They almost dropped it, but then a pair of guys spotted them and went to help them out. The two guys, mid to late twenties, accepted their thanks and devoted the next couple of minutes to flirting with them.

  Roger shook his head, wondering if what the guys were really after was an invitation to what they surely hoped was a sorority kegger.

  The group of five split up, the guys headed into the store, and the girls in the car set off to their next destination.

  He’d been sitting for over an hour when one guy pulled into a parking spot and bumped the wheel stop with his tire. The car was crooked, but it was within the lines. Slowly, the guy made his way from his car, to the store’s entrance.

  Roger had a hard time deciding if the guy was drunk, or if he just had some sort of health condition that made his movements slow and not a little jerky.

  The guy was in the store about twenty minutes, and came out with a case of beer in one hand, and a case of hard cider in the other. He was having a harder time of it, weighted down on both sides.

  And, again, Roger was tempted to go help someone out. But the longer Roger watched the man, the more he realized that the reason the guy was moving so slow was because he was drunk and was doing everything in his power to mask it.

  Moving slowly was one thing, but having it take you five tries to put your key into the lock of your own car, when he wasn’t shaking but just plain missing the hole, was something else altogether. Besides, someone used to living with a disease would have learned to use the remote hanging on his keychain before now.

  “Fake sobriety all you want, buddy, but I’ve got your number,” Roger muttered to himself. He waited for the guy to slowly back out of his space and move towards the street, before putting his own car in drive and pulling out.

  Ten minutes later, Roger had to give the guy credit. The man may have been driving ten under the speed limit and swerving, but he was staying within the lines on the road. Turn signals, braking at safe distances from the stop sign. He was actually an overly cautious drunk driver.

  Roger grew a bit uncomfortable when he realized they were headed for a bypass, but the guy merged and gathered speed until he was just five under. He was driving so well, overall, that Roger began to doubt that the guy actually needed killing.

  The man may have been drinking from one of the hard cider bottles as he drove down the road, but aside from sloppy, slow driving, he was obeying all the other laws aside from the one about how alcohol and motor vehicles shouldn’t be mixed.

  Hell, most people broke speeding laws by not even bothering to monitor their speed. Roger was certainly guilty of it. Right now, he was having a hard time deciding who posed the bigger threat. The drunk guy driving relatively safely down the highway, or all the people speeding past them in the passing lane.

  Just then, the guy in the car lifted the bottle to his lips again, as he passed by a cop, holding a speed gun aimed for the road. The officer did a double-take at the guy and hit his sirens, pulling out just one car behind Roger.

  The car behind Roger immediately pulled over to the shoulder, as did Roger, and the cop went around both of them. The officer rode on the drunk’s bumper until he finally realized something out of the ordinary was happening, and pulled off onto the shoulder.

  Roger remained on the shoulder, nearly a quarter-mile behind the officer, and watched. He waited until the officer made the guy get out of the car, just to make sure the drunk was well and truly caught. Once the officer pulled out the Breathalyzer, Roger pulled back onto the road.

  Not quite sure what to do with himself now, he continued on down the road, thinking. On one hand, it was awfully damned nice to see an officer actually catch one of these guys. It was about time he saw justice being served, instead of having to see to it, himself. On the other hand, the guy hardly seemed to be causing any danger. Roger had almost been to the point of giving up on the chase.

  Either way, he didn’t know if he should go find another store and fish some more, or just head on home. In the end, he was able to look at it was one less drunk on the roads tonight, and that was enough to sate his need of sparing a family the grief he suffered. Noting the time and how late it was getting, he headed off the next exit, to start making his way home.

  Chapter Ten

  Wounds May Heal, but the Scars Remain

  “What are you doing here?” Daddy asked the social worker, when he’d opened the door and saw him with me.

  “Everything is fine,” the social worker said. “We just had a little unexpected change in plans today, is all.”

  Daddy still looked worried. “But I thought the agreement was that one of the foster parents would handle transport. What happened? Did she lose her placement?”

  “No, no. Mr. Hayes, nothing is changing. It’s just that their daughter took a rather nasty fall down the stairs and is pretty banged up. The foster mother called me, in tears, because she had an ambulance on the way for her daughter and felt she needed to go to the hospital with her. Apparently, the daughter was holding her side, in pain, and her leg wasn’t as straight as it should be.”

  Daddy cringed and looked at me, “How did it happen?”

  I could only blink at the look in his eyes.

  “She didn’t have anything to do with it,” the social worker said gently. “She was downstairs, in the kitchen, helping to mix meatloaf.”

  Daddy’s face relaxed.

  “Sadie went upstairs as soon as we got home from school. We both each got a new pair of shoes,” I told him.

  “With heels,” the social worker added.

  “Yeah, Sadie’s never had heels before and she wanted to practice.”

  “And when her heel hit the first step, her ankle gave out, and down she went,” the social worker finished.

  Daddy’s eyes got big.

  “It was loud, and Sadie was crying before her last smack on the floor at the bottom,” I told him.

  “I bet she was,” Daddy said.

  “At any rate, Penny’s foster father was in a meeting over two hours away. There wasn’t any way either one of them could get Penny here on time, and the foster mother didn’t know what to do, so she called me.”

  “I could have driven over and gotten her,” Daddy said.

  “I know,” the social worker said. “But it gave me a chance to check in on Penny and talk, and then I could cross it off my to do list.”

  “I see. Well, did you want to come in and visit us together, since you’re here?”

  The social worker considered that for a couple of seconds. “Yeah, this’ll count as a surprise visit, if I come in.”

  Daddy nodded and moved aside so we could go in. He grabbed my hand when I started to walk by.

  “Come here, kiddo,” he said, pulling me into his arms for a hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a better greeting when I opened the door. I was just worried something was wrong.”

  I tried not to cry, because he’d been right. Something had gone wrong, and it’d been so scary. “Do you think Sadie will be okay?”

  Daddy drew his head back, away from me, to look down into my eyes. “From a fall down the stairs? Yes, I do. But it could take a while for her to ge
t there. Why don’t you give the doctors a few hours to finish looking at her, and get x-rays and stuff, then call her mom and ask her how it’s going?”

  “You won’t be mad if I call them while I’m here?”

  He pulled away from me, led me over to the stairs, sat on one of the steps so he was eye-level with me, and wrapped his hands around my arms to hold me in place while he looked me in the eyes. “Penny, I may not like the fact that you’re living with them, but I do know that they are taking excellent care of you. I know you want to move back here, but I also know you like staying there. My frustration over this situation has nothing to do with them, I’m grateful for what they are doing. You are just as welcome to call them while you are here, as I hope you feel welcome to call me while you’re there.”

  “Did you really think I might have pushed Sadie down the stairs?”

  “No, honey.”

  “The look on your face said that you did.”

  Daddy looked above my head for a moment, his expression changing a few times. I think maybe he might have been trying not to cry. He finally looked back at me. “You know, there’s only one thing that scares me more than the thought of never getting all of you home again. Can you guess what would scare me that bad?”

  I looked over to the social worker, but he had his head down, looking at the floor with his lips tucked in. I looked back at Daddy, and the look in his eyes. My voice came out as a whisper, “That one of our minds might break, too?” It was a thought that had never occurred to me.

  Daddy nodded. “I know now that something was wrong with my father. My therapists say that he might have just been an alcoholic, and his abuse towards me might have been what messed me up, long before I showed any symptoms.”

  “But you never did anything really bad to hurt us when your mind broke.”

  “Yeah, because everyone went out of their way to make sure I didn’t. But, see, the other possibility is that my father’s mind was already broken, and he used alcohol to try and make it feel better. Maybe he was mentally unstable long before the alcohol. And, if that’s the case, I might have inherited the condition, but it laid dormant until your Mom’s death triggered it.”