“Since when did you give a damn what my place looks like?” Putting down the soda, Ryan started in on another slice of pizza.
“Since I walked in the door and practically got knocked down by the smell.” Scott realized he was going to run out of bags before he ran out of garbage. Well, maybe there were more in a kitchen cabinet or something. He headed that way to see. The sight of the butter and jelly sitting out was too much for him. Removing the spoon from the jelly, he tossed it in the sink—the clatter made Ryan jump—screwed the lid back on, and opened the refrigerator. As he put the butter and jelly back where they belonged, he took stock of the refrigerator’s contents: beer, some old-looking bologna, two hot dogs remaining in a leaky package, a half-empty jar of pickles. Chase hadn’t been kidding when he’d said there was nothing to eat in the house.
“When’s the last time you went to the grocery?” Scott asked over his shoulder.
“Get the hell out of my refrigerator,” Ryan growled.
“I see you’ve been feeding your kid real good.” Scott closed the refrigerator door. “Bologna and pickles, real healthy stuff.”
“Look, the only reason I let you in is because you brought pizza with you. It sure wasn’t so you could tell me how to run my life.”
“You short of money?” The puddle of milk on the floor revolted Scott. Grabbing some paper towels, he wiped it up.
“Hell, yes, I’m short of money. I’m always short of money. Who isn’t? And no, I don’t want any of yours. I got enough for damn groceries. It’s just easier to eat out.”
“Or not.” Scott’s voice was dry as he looked his brother over. Ryan was bone-thin. At least a week’s worth of scruff covered his cheeks and chin. His usually short brown hair was longer than Scott had seen it in years, and scraggly. Shades of the old man, he was wearing a wife-beater with baggy jeans kept up by a belt and looked so down-and-out that Scott wanted to shake him. “The kid needs to eat. Like, regular meals.”
“What the hell do you know about anything, anyway?”
“I hear Gayle got remarried.” Locating a half-full box of garbage bags under the sink, Scott dragged one out, tossed the wad of damp paper towels in, and started filling it as he got to the heart of the matter.
Ryan stopped chewing to glare at him. “Where’d you hear that?” Scott dumped what was left of the milk down the sink and added the empty carton to the bag. “Chase told me.”
Blue eyes that were the same color as his own darted around as much of the apartment as Ryan could see.
“Chase ain’t here.”
Clearly he hadn’t been entirely sure without glancing around.
“You know where he is?” If anything had been needed to underline his brother’s less than attentive parenting style, that glance had done it. Scott’s tone made the question a challenge. With the garbage bag full now and no ties in sight, he knotted the top. Walking back into the living room carrying an empty one, he shook it open and continued the cleanup.
Ryan put the half-eaten slice back in the box, folded his arms over his chest, and glared at him. “What’s it to you where my kid is?”
“He’s not with Gayle. He’s not here. So, I’m asking: Where is he?” An armful of old newspapers, a couple of McDonald’s bags, some candy wrappers and beer cans later, and Scott could actually see most of the floor.
“Hangin’ with his buds. It’s summer. That’s what kids his age do. Listen, if you’re so interested in kids, have one of your own and leave mine the hell out of it.”
“You got a responsibility to him.” Having filled it, Scott tied that bag off, too, and carried it into the kitchen.
“I told you—”
“Cut the crap, Ryan.” Coming back into the living room, Scott pulled some clothes off a worn blue La-Z-Boy, tossed them on top of the dividing wall with a bunch of others, and sat down, looking intently at his brother. “I can tell looking at you and looking at this place that you’ve been on a days-long bender. We both know what having a drunk for a dad is like. You really want that for Chase?”
Ryan stiffened. “You want to tell me what business that is of yours?”
“You’re my brother. He’s my nephew.”
Animosity flared in Ryan’s eyes. “And you’re Mr. Perfect, aren’t you? Just like you’ve always been. Mr. Never Put a Foot Wrong in All His Life.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “You can shove that up your ass.”
“Fuck you.”
“You’re a drunk.”
Their eyes locked.
“Just ’cause I drink some don’t make me a drunk.”
“You trying to bullshit me?”
Ryan’s face tightened. “Get the hell out of here, why don’t you?”
“Nope. I’m here, and I’m staying until I’ve said my piece. Unless you think you can throw me out.”
They exchanged measuring looks. Since he’d hit about fifteen, Scott had always been taller and more muscular than four-years-older Ryan, and the knock-down, drag-out fighting that brothers typically did growing up had ended. From Ryan’s expression, the knowledge that he was no physical match for his little brother continued to tick him off.
“Prick,” Ryan muttered.
“Hitting your kid is a big no-no nowadays. I don’t care what kind of little shit he’s being. You do it again and you can expect a visit from Child Protective Services. And me.”
“Who said I hit my kid?”
Scott didn’t reply, just sat there looking at him. For a long moment neither of them spoke.
“I’m going through a hard time right now, all right?” Ryan burst out.
“Yeah,” Scott said. “I know. Gayle getting remarried is a tough one.”
Ryan swallowed. “I always thought I’d get her back one day.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.” The look Ryan gave him was bitter. “You’ve never been married. Just like you’ve never had a kid. Hell, you damned well live alone. I’ve been through enough AA programs to know why, too: You got trust issues. You’re never going to put your heart on the line enough to fall in love.”
Knowing Ryan was trying to get under his skin, Scott let the psychobabble pass.
“Your marriage may be over, but you still have the kid. You’ve got to get yourself straight for him. You remember what it was like for us, living with Dad.”
Ryan’s expression turned bitter. “Mean old bastard. I hope he rots in jail. They going to keep him this time?”
Scott shook his head. “They’re going to let him out tomorrow. On bail. They set it at fifty grand.”
“Shit. You got that much?”
“I’m not posting it. It’s a property bond, and believe it or not, his farm’s good to cover it. The only reason he’s not already out is I got the lawyer I hired looking to see if the judge won’t set him going into some kind of live-in rehab program as a condition of bail. He doesn’t go to rehab, he stays in jail until trial.”
Ryan grimaced. “That’s a waste of time and you know it. No damned rehab program exists that can change him.”
“Probably not.”
“I don’t—”
Ryan was interrupted by the opening of the apartment door. With the dimly lit hall visible behind him, Chase stood there, one hand on the knob, his eyes widening as he took in both his father and uncle sitting a few feet apart, looking at him. Scott felt a flicker of amusement as alarm flashed in Chase’s eyes. It didn’t take a genius to realize the kid was panicking in case he was being told on. Having managed to get both Chase and the truck back to the apartment without Ryan’s knowing that either of them had gone anywhere, Scott hadn’t seen his nephew since.
He gave the kid a sardonic smile.
“Hey.” Recovering, Chase pulled his key from the lock, then closed the door and walked on into the room, tucking the key back into his pocket as his eyes slid away from Scott’s face to fasten on the box on the coffee table. “Is that pizza?”
The panic Scott had seen was gone. Ch
ase, he realized, was good at putting on an insouciant front. Just like, he reluctantly recognized, he himself once had been.
Never let ’em see you’re scared. God, he remembered that.
“Yep,” Scott said as Chase, with another lightning, faintly wary glance at him, helped himself to pizza.
“Where you been?” Ryan demanded.
“Out.” Attacking the pizza with enthusiasm, Chase met his father’s eyes. Something in Ryan’s expression must have told him that more was required, because he added, mumbling around a mouthful, “I was with some friends from school.”
Ryan shot Scott a triumphant look. “See?”
Brows raised, Chase was looking around. “Who cleaned up?”
“I did,” Scott said. “You know, I came by to tell your dad about a program I’d like you to join. A bunch of kids your age working a few hours a week this summer at the prosecutor’s office.”
His nephew’s eyes collided with his.
“You gonna pay me?” Chase asked cheekily. The kid had balls, Scott had to give him that.
Scott shook his head. “This is more like an internship. Give you something to do. Keep you out of trouble.”
There was the smallest edge of meaning to that last.
Chase grimaced as Ryan looked at Scott. “You didn’t say anything about that.”
“I got sidetracked.” Scott turned his attention back to Chase. “Sound like something you might find interesting?”
Chase’s eyes flickered. Scott was pretty sure he knew what the kid was thinking: Like I’ve got a choice. But for his father’s consumption, Chase nodded.
“I guess.”
“It okay with you if he comes into the office for a couple of hours a couple of times a week?” Scott asked his brother.
Ryan looked at him kind of hard. Then he looked at Chase, who was just finishing up his second slice of pizza, the same way.
“Why the sudden interest in my kid?”
Out of the corner of his eye Scott saw that Chase was once again looking apprehensive. It was a fleeting expression, as quickly gone, and Chase was once again wolfing down pizza as if it was the most important thing in his life.
“Like I said, he’s my nephew.”
Ryan shrugged. “If he wants to, it’s okay by me.”
“Great.” Scott stood up. “Well, that’s what I came by for. Chase, why don’t you help me carry this trash down, and we can go over some times and dates on the way?” Chase looked less than enthused, but he picked up the trash bag Scott hauled out of the kitchen and then, carrying it, followed Scott toward the door. With a hand on the knob, Scott looked back at his brother. “I’ll be in touch about Dad. And the other things we talked about.”
“Looking forward to it,” was Ryan’s caustic response.
“So, what else did you and Dad talk about?” Chase asked as he followed Scott down the three flights of stairs to the street. Scott shrugged by way of a reply. Music from the apartments on either side boomed in the stairwell. A couple of college-age kids carrying bicycles came through the building’s front door as he and Chase exited. They said hi to Chase, who they obviously knew, and he nodded back. Then Scott and Chase stepped out into the relative quiet of the night.
“Where does the trash go?” Scott looked around at his nephew.
“Around back.” Chase led the way around the side of the building. Maybe twenty feet separated the huge old Victorian from its similar neighbor, and the resulting passageway was dark as a tunnel so late at night. At the end of it was an alley that, thanks to the pale moon floating high overhead, was at least light enough so that they could see where they were going. Dumpsters and trash cans crowded close to run-down garages. Reaching the nearest dumpster, Chase heaved his bag inside.
“Did you tell him about me?” Chase asked as Scott followed suit.
“About you stealing his truck, or about the beer-and-pot party you were having with your friends at Grandpa’s place?” Scott headed back around toward the front of the house as he spoke.
Chase kept up. “You know.”
“Nope. Although I did mention that you told me about your mother getting remarried, so I guess you’re going to have to say that you ran into me somewhere if your dad asks about that.”
“That’s no big deal.” Scott could hear the relief in Chase’s voice. “I can say I saw you on the street or something, and you stopped to grill me about him. He says you’re always sticking your nose in where it isn’t wanted, anyway.”
“Good to know.” It occurred to Scott that by Kid Raising 101 standards he should probably be telling his nephew not to lie to his dad, but given that both of them were already sliding together down that slippery slope, he didn’t see much point in worrying about it.
A small front yard bisected by a brick walk led to the street, which was narrow, lined with more once grand Victorian houses, most of which had been turned into low-rent apartments, and had cars parallel-parked on both sides. A single yellowish streetlight glowed on a corner. With that, the moon, and numerous lighted windows, the street was fairly well illuminated.
“So, did all your friends show up at my office today?” Scott asked as they reached his Jeep and he beeped the lock.
“Yeah, they did. Is that why you came by tonight? To check up on us?” Chase’s voice took on a belligerent edge.
“To check up on you. Did you think I wouldn’t? And just so you know, I’m going to keep checking up on you from now on. You do something you’re not supposed to, and I’m going to be on you like a duck on a june bug.” Scott gave the kid a stern look as he walked around the front of his car to open the door. “Get in.”
Chase went wide-eyed. “Get in?”
“You heard me. There’s a Thorntons not far from here. I’m going to run you up there real quick.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Would you quit arguing and get in the damned car?”
Chase got in. Scott did, too, and drove off down the street while his nephew eyed him uneasily.
“You need milk, bread, cheese. Maybe some bologna. Cereal. Doughnuts.” The Thorntons anchored an intersection about half a mile away. Reaching it, Scott parked, and he and Chase went into the store. At the entrance, Scott grabbed a couple of plastic shopping baskets and handed one to Chase. “You go that way, I’ll go this way. We’ll meet in the middle. Get anything you see that I told you, and whatever else you want. Let’s make this quick.”
Chase obeyed, and their shopping trip took maybe five minutes, max. When they were back in the car heading for Ryan’s apartment, Chase shot him a sidelong look.
“My dad’s probably going to be pissed that I let you buy us this stuff.”
“Tell your dad he can—” Scott broke off before he could add “stick it up his ass,” which was what hovered on the tip of his tongue. Instead he segued into, “Call me if he has a problem with it. Tell him it wasn’t your fault. I made you come with me.”
“That’s just going to make him pissed at you.”
Scott laughed. “I guess I’ll just have to live with that.” They were on Maxwell Street now, and as he pulled up in front of the apartment building and stopped, he looked over at Chase. “You need anything else, or anything comes up with your dad, you call me, understand?”
“Sure.” From the tone of that, Scott doubted he was going to be getting many calls. Having gathered the grocery bags, Chase was just about to get out of the car when he paused with his hand on the handle to add, “Oh, by the way, I saw your girlfriend tonight. You want to go around checking up on people, you probably ought to be checking up on her about now.”
Not sure who he was talking about, Scott squinted at him through the darkness. “My girlfriend?”
“You know, the babe. With the legs. Lisa. We went to this house that some family disappeared from like forever ago—the girls and Rinko made up this club, they want to take on figuring out what happened to that family as kind of a project—and she was there when we got there
, just lying in the grass out there in the backyard like she was dead or something. First she said somebody in the house clobbered her over the head, then she changed her mind and said she fell.” Chase shrugged. “Whatever, she was knocked cold. She kept rubbing this place over her ear like it hurt.” He demonstrated, pushing his fingers through his hair above his right ear.
“What?” Scott stared at Chase, who shrugged again, as if disclaiming all responsibility. “Is she okay? Where is she now?”
“She was up walking and talking a few minutes after we got there, and she was able to drive herself back to Lexington, so I guess she’s okay,” Chase said. “But I don’t have a clue where she is.”
Luckily, Scott did. His thoughts in turmoil, he stared at Chase without really seeing him.
The idea of Lisa being knocked cold, however it had happened, wasn’t sitting well with him at all, he discovered.
“Thanks for telling me. Go on back in now. And stay there.”
“Of course I’m going to stay there. Dad’s awake. I only take his wheels when he’s passed out.”
Lips thinning, shooting his nephew a warning look but not wanting to take the time to deliver the lecture that bit of provocation clearly called for, Scott waited impatiently until Chase was out of the car and safely back inside the building. Then he headed for University Hospital, driving through the narrow streets with a barely controlled ferocity that was a symptom of his inner unease.
What the hell had she been doing to get herself knocked out?
Whatever had gone down, if he knew Lisa, right now she’d be there at the hospital with her mother.
She was, just as he’d expected. As soon as the elevator reached the fourth floor and he stepped out he saw her. At this time of night, the long, blue-painted hall was nearly deserted except for a nurse pushing a squeaky-wheeled cart into a room just ahead of him. The lighting was bright, the air-conditioning was cold, the place smelled like antiseptic. Lisa was farther down the hall, standing with her back to him just outside her mother’s room. Her long black hair spilling down her back, dressed in a pair of loose gray sweatpants and a nondescript white T-shirt that she somehow managed to make look sexy as hell, she seemed to be feeling right at home. Loverboy had his arms around her. She was pressed up against him tighter than a stamp to a letter, kissing him for all she was worth.
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