by T. J. Klune
Wait, that didn’t sound right, either. I know what I just said sounds like. It’s only people we know that come over here. We’re not drug dealers or anything.” Oh, God, shut up! “I don’t even know any drug dealers. Otter works for a photography studio, but I only think it’s fashion photographers that get hooked on cocaine, and he doesn’t do that anymore. Fashion photography, not cocaine. I don’t even think he knows where to get any?
Otter, do you know where to buy cocaine?” He shakes his head, his mouth quirking at the sides, obviously not going to speak. I wish I could do that.
The Kid has his face in his hands. “So there’s that,” I tell Georgia, who is watching me with a badass stoicism that chills me to the bone.
I get up and start walking toward the door as the bell rings again. “I’ve never even seen drugs before,” I continue for some odd reason. ( Not so odd, it tells me. You just like to hear yourself talk, apparently. Are you trying to make this worse? ) “Except on TV and in movies. I’m sorry. I just lied to you. I saw a marijuana joint once when I was sixteen. I didn’t touch it, though. It was just kind of… around me. Okay, so they smoked it around me, but I refused to partake because users are losers, you know? I would never put that in my body, because my body is a temple. Wow, that sounded conceited. I’m sorry. I’m not conceited and I don’t do drugs and I talk a lot when I’m nervous and why haven’t you said anything about the tea?”
I open the door. Dominic is there. And Anna. And Mrs. Paquinn. Nope.
Not God saving me. God jerking me around. Again.
“Hi, guys!” I say loudly. “It’s so normal for you to stop by like this in the middle of the day. And none of you do drugs, either!”
“Not since the sixties!” Mrs. Paquinn says just as loud, like she thinks we’re playing a game. “But then everyone did drugs in the sixties! Free love, wouldn’t you know. I remember this one time I took two drops of acid off a sugar cube and somehow ended up in Wyoming, after having followed what I thought was a pink koala across state lines for six days. I couldn’t believe it when I finally came down and saw that there wasn’t a koala, after all, but a group of frightened Japanese tourists who thought I was stalking them for their yen! To this day, I still haven’t figured out why the Japanese would want to go to Wyoming. It’s not exactly a hotbed of Asian activity.”
“Ha, ha! That’s quite the story, Mrs. Paquinn,” I say through gritted teeth, sure my jaw is going to snap in two. “I don’t know if we need to discuss that in front of the social worker who is here right now for the first time.”
“You’re just as subtle as the Kid,” Creed says. From somewhere.
“Creed?” I whisper, looking around. Where the hell—
Anna rolls her eyes and shoves her phone into my hands, Creed on the other end on speaker phone. “You totally thought I was invisible, didn’t you?” he accuses me. “Dude, are you on Pink Koala Acid today or something?”
“I didn’t think you were invisible,” I snap at him, even though I sort of did. “Not that I do acid or anything,” I call back into the living room, wanting Georgia to know I’m not tripping balls right now. “What are you all doing here?” I hiss as I turn back to the three in front of me.
“Ty texted me and said the social worker was coming over and that you needed all of us here to keep you from going insane,” Anna explains, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Looks like we may be a little too late.”
“Did he?” I growl.
“I did not!” he shouts from the living room. “Please don’t put me in the bad closet tonight, Bear! I promise I’ll be good!”
“That was a joke,” Otter explains hastily to the social worker. “Tyson and his brother have a very… selective sense of humor. You have to kind of get used to it.”
Georgia’s reply is to type something else on her computer.
“Well, of course it was a joke,” the Kid says, sounding offended. “But it’s not funny when you explain it’s a joke. Thanks, Captain Ruins All My Fun of the Suck The Fun Out Of The Room Patrol.” (This causes me to laugh quite loudly, only because it sounds exactly like something I would say. It’s these little moments when I’m reminded he belongs to me that make everything we’ve been through worth it. Even if I’m thinking of putting him in the bad closet, wherever that is.)
“How do you know Dominic?” I ask Anna and Mrs. Paquinn, once I’ve stopped yipping like a hyena.
“We just met!” Mrs. Paquinn says, looking fondly down at Dominic.
“He was walking up to the door when we arrived. I was so happy to see he wasn’t a figment of Ty’s imagination! I was worried because I had an imaginary friend once too. My parents eventually had to have an exorcism performed on me.” She shakes her head sadly. “Happy Clown Charlie never came back after that, but at least my bed stopped shaking and no one else died.”
No one else?
Dominic snorts before looking back at me. “Ty texted me too,” he says in that quiet, gruff way of his. “I know a thing or two about—”
“Dominic?” Georgia says from behind me. “I thought that was you. I was going to stop by after I finished up here, since I was in the neighborhood.”
“Hey, Georgia,” Dominic mutters, looking down at his feet.
Uh, what? “You’ve got a social worker too?” I blurt out.
He blushes but doesn’t speak.
“He lives with his foster parents, a few houses down,” Georgia tells me, watching him with what almost looks like fondness in her eyes. “Dominic and I go way back, isn’t that right, Dom?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he rumbles at her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Dominic!” the Kid says, smiling as wide as I’ve ever seen. “And Anna and Mrs. Paquinn!”
Dominic grins at Tyson and reaches out and touches his shoulder before lowering his hand to his sides. It’s a simple act, but one that obviously means something to the two of them. I don’t know what it could be.
“And Creed,” Creed says from the phone.
“Third person,” I warn him. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Mrs. Paquinn does it all the time!” he gripes. “And I have labs tonight, so nope!”
“I’m seventy-six,” Mrs. Paquinn scolds. “I’m allowed to talk about Mrs.
Paquinn that way. People just think she’s senile. You do it, and you sound like a douche bag.” She looks at Georgia. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Paquinn. I babysit the Kid from time to time.”
“She doesn’t always talk in the third person,” I say to Georgia quickly.
“And she’s not senile. And she doesn’t always say things like ‘douche bag’
in front of Tyson.”
“Well, not all the time,” the Kid says.
“Tyson’s my friend,” I hear Dominic tell Georgia. “I wanted to make sure he was okay today. It can be… you know.” He shrugs as he blushes. He must realize as I do that this is the most I’ve ever heard him speak.
She nods at him sympathetically, and I wonder at that, at this kid yet again, this kid who Ty saw fit to include in his social worker SOS. Why is he in foster care? What happened to his family? Every horror story I’d ever heard on the news about kids being removed from their homes because of horrible abuse and/or living conditions flashes through my head, and my heart breaks a little then, not knowing what he’s been exposed to, wondering if that’s the reason he’s so quiet, because he’s seen things that no kid his age should see.
Or maybe I’m thinking too much. Maybe there’s a logical explanation for it. And maybe it’s none of my business.
But I can’t help notice the way Georgia watches Tyson and Dominic as they speak quietly to each other, that small smile never really leaving Dominic’s face. Georgia looks surprised, if only for a moment, then pleased.
Otter notices it too, and shrugs behind Georgia’s back, mouthing “later” to me.
“Why did everyone go quiet?” Creed demands through the phone. “Did you mu
te me? Are you all talking about me behind my back? Bear and I hugged for like six hours! I’m not mad anymore! Anna, I’m sorry that I said I wish I could have sex with him, but it’s not like I’m going to do it—”
“It’s a straight-guy thing,” I explain to Georgia as I grimace. She’s looking at me like that doesn’t even begin to make sense to her, which is probably true. I resist the urge to explain fully and in great detail, but just barely. Erica is right. I overshare. Nobody likes an oversharer.
Georgia seems to snap back into hard-core mode, looking at our new guests suspiciously. “And who are you all?” she asks.
“I’m Anna,” Anna says. “Bear’s ex-girlfriend and current friend.”
“I’m Mrs. Paquinn,” says Mrs. Paquinn kindly and slowly. “But, had you been listening to me earlier, you would have heard that already.”
“And the young man on the phone?”
“Creed,” Creed says. “Otter’s brother, Bear’s best friend, Anna’s…
whatever. I live in Phoenix, so I can’t be there right now. You know what I can’t wait for? The future. That way everyone would have video phones, and I could actually see what was going on. This is lame.”
“You could always hang up,” I grumble.
“In your dreams, fruit loop.”
“Should we discuss what apparently you dream about?” Anna snaps at him.
“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” Creed sighs.
“Not as long as I have memory.”
“We put the fun back in dysfunction,” the Kid tells Georgia.
“That’s one way to put it,” Otter says.
“Are there other ways to put it?” Mrs. Paquinn asks, honestly curious. “I should think I’d like to hear more.”
“And everyone else was just leaving,” I say, glaring at Anna and Mrs.
Paquinn. “Thanks for stopping by to say hi. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
They look like they are going to protest, but Otter starts ushering them toward the door, Dominic glancing over his shoulder, a look of worry on his face as he catches my eye. I shake my head once and smile at him, but his eyes are troubled as Otter tells him that he can come back later.
“Sorry about that,” I say to Georgia. “They’re just… worried.”
She’s watching the closed door. “You know,” she says slowly, “most of the time I go into homes, it’s because the situation calls for it, that I am supposed to make a decision on whether or not I feel a child is safe.
Unfortunately, a lot of the times a child is not safe, and I have to remove them. There’s times when that decision is overturned in court and I have to watch as the kid gets put back into a home that’s not fit for even a dog to survive in.” She looks down at the Kid before turning back to me. “In my years of doing this, I’ve gotten a thick skin. You have to, with some of the things that I’ve seen. But this house… this is a first for me. For once, there seem to be too many people who care what happens to the child. And that’s a problem I wish I had more often.
“I’m going to need copies of your schedules, because I will be dropping by for visits, some announced, some unannounced. I’ll be honest with you all, this process can be long, and it can be exhausting, and it can strain people like no other. But it’s worth it. It has to be worth it. So you will let me do my job, and you will watch out for Tyson, and we won’t have a problem. Do we understand each other?”
We nod.
She looks down at Tyson again. “And you,” she says, her accent lilting over her lips. “When I ask you questions, I expect you to be honest with me.
It will make things easier on you and your brother. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the Kid says. “And just so you know, there is no bad closet. I was just playing around.”
She smiles at him. “I figured. Although, with that mouth of yours, I wouldn’t be surprised if you belonged in one.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you even allowed to say things like that?”
“Don’t tell anyone, okay? Tyson, can you do me a favor and go play outside for a bit? I’m sure Dominic is waiting for you. And if the short experience I just had is any indication, I believe Mrs. Paquinn and Anna are probably hovering near the door, trying to listen in.”
“We are not!” Mrs. Paquinn shouts through the door.
Ty laughs and opens the door, going outside and closing it behind him, already starting to chatter excitedly.
“How long has Dominic been coming here?” Georgia asks us.
“To be honest,” Otter says, “that was the first time I’d seen him. Bear only met him yesterday, and we’d only heard his name mentioned for the first time a few days ago.”
“Why?” I ask. “Is there something we should know? I was unaware he was in foster care. I told him yesterday that I’d like to meet his parents if he was going to be coming over here, especially if he was going to be in our house. He kind of dodged it, but I figured I could just walk down there.”
“First things first,” Georgia says. “I’ll need to be shown the house, bedrooms, bathrooms, and the like for my report. We can walk and talk.”
She walks back into the living room to get her laptop, and we trail after her.
“Now,” she says. “How long have you two been together?”
“Er… uh… what? Just….” That was unpleasant.
Otter saves me. “Just over four months.”
She arches an eyebrow at us. “You two move kind of fast.”
“It’s been going on a lot longer than four months,” I say quickly. “I’ve known Otter practically my whole life.”
“And Anna? She said she was your ex?”
I was told a while ago that this whole process would be like having my entire life put under a microscope, so I can’t say these questions are unexpected. But it’s still awkward having to talk to a complete stranger about things I couldn’t talk about with the people closest to me for months.
“She is,” I say warily. “But she’s with Otter’s brother now.”
“Interesting,” Georgia says as she types something else onto her computer.
“Do we get copies of this report?” I ask her, wanting to know exactly what she’s saying about me.
“You do. Worried?”
“Of course not,” I scoff. She looks like she doesn’t believe me.
“And there is no chance of you and Anna trying to… work things out?”
“Over my dead body,” Otter mutters as he crosses his arms against his chest and glares at Georgia.
I roll my eyes. “What the big guy means is no. There’s no chance.”
“And you two are committed to each other?”
He cocks his head at her. “Meaning what?”
“Otter, I—” I start.
He holds up his hand at me. “Let her answer the question, Bear. If she’s going to be asking these things, then it’s our right to find out why.”
“Meaning,” Georgia says, “are you two exclusive with each other? Or are there any other parties involved in your relationship? Together only four months, and yet you live together in a house with a young child?”
I understand the point of her question. I understand the logic behind it as I understand she’s just doing her job. But what I don’t understand is this dark feeling in the pit of my stomach, that senseless thing that had arisen when I’d seen Otter and David Trent shaking hands. That look in Otter’s eye, that knowing expression on David’s face. There was knowledge there, intimate knowledge, and it bugged the fuck out of me, even though the same could be said about Anna and me.
It’s jealousy and I hate it. Otter and I have never discussed exclusivity, and now that it’s being thrown back in my face, it’s not sitting right. I’d just assumed there was no one else. Like we were pigeons (seriously, they mate for life. Now you can’t say I never taught you anything) or something. Too late do I realize that everything I’m thinking is probably spread blatantly over my face. I look up at Ott
er, who grins that crooked grin and shakes his head. You think too much, his eyes tell me. Why are you such an idiot sometimes? that smile says.
“There’s no one else,” Otter says to Georgia. “And there won’t be, either. Bear’s it for me and has been for quite some time.”
Ow, my heart.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice far rougher than I’d hoped it would be. “Otter
’n me. There’s not gonna be anyone else.”
She chooses to ignore the scratch in my voice, but when she turns her back to check locks on the bedroom doors, Otter reaches over quickly and tucks me under his big arm, kissing the top of my head, leaning down to whisper, “Only you, Papa Bear. It’s always been you.”
Yeah, yeah, big guy. I hear you. That doesn’t mean that feeling will go away right now. But he doesn’t need to know that. I internalize now, remember? I smile up at him, but there must be something still there because he sighs and squeezes me tighter before stepping away.
“I met Dominic six years ago, when he was nine,” Georgia suddenly says, distracting me from my idiocy. “Tyson’s age. I’d received a phone call from my boss at three in the morning, asking me to get down to Mercy Hospital, that I had a new case.” She opens the door to Ty’s room, and we follow her in. It’s bright, the open window letting in sunlight and a sea breeze. She pulls a digital camera out of her back pocket and snaps a few photos of the bed and the walls, where Tyson has posters of Einstein (tongue stuck out, of course), Gandhi, PETA. “Vegetarian?” she asks.
“By his own choice,” I say. “That’s what he wanted, so I supported him.”
“He’s not a normal kid, is he?” She asks as she stands in front of a new addition to his poster wall, a large black and white photo of a woman with duct tape over her mouth, the words NO H8 written on her cheek.
I shake my head slowly. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s…
different. But in the greatest way possible.”
“I see,” she says, trailing her hand trailing over a copy of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World on his desk. “I got to Mercy Hospital and was met by the SPD outside the room I’d been directed toward. At that moment, I didn’t have a whole lot of information, just that it was bad. I could hear screaming coming from inside the room behind the cops, could hear the doctor and nurses inside trying to get the kid to calm down. I asked the police what had happened. The officer I spoke to had apparently been one of the first to respond. He had blood on his uniform, so much blood. He was young, barely out of his teens, and I found out later he’d been on the job a week, still shadowing a more experienced officer.”