by Brandon Witt
Now, with her straight auburn hair pulled back into a tattered ponytail and a strained expression on her face, Tommy could tell she was exhausted. “Sorry things aren’t settled yet, Tommy, just….”
He kissed her on the forehead as he passed, stooping down to lift up little Max on his way through the door. “Don’t you dare apologize, Col.” The house was messier than he usually found it after work, but he could understand why. Max let out a small whimper as he dropped his head onto Tommy’s shoulder. “He feels warm too.”
Colleen walked behind them, updating him on everything as she went. “Yeah, his just started to go up. Zoe’s been running one off and on all day, but it started to get worse about an hour ago.” When she noticed Bobby, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “Hey, Bobby, good to see ya.”
“Good to see you too, Colleen. Where’s the folks?” he asked, glancing around the house.
Tommy felt a small flash of embarrassment, knowing their home wasn’t exactly fit for company even on the best days. The TV stood precariously on a makeshift shelf put together with cinder blocks and boards, a DVD player Davey had “found” one day sitting under it. A short bungee cord held the TV to the wall in hopes it wouldn’t crush the babies if it fell. Cigarette burns and stains sprinkled the carpets. Nearly as bad, the couch had holes worn in the fabric and a tattered blanket tossed over the back. But it would take a white glove to find any dust and the windows were crystal clear. They might not have the nicest things, the house might be too small and rundown, but they tried to keep it clean. Tommy could be proud of that, if nothing else.
“Probably in a gutter somewhere, same as usual,” Colleen answered without spite, just a matter-of-fact statement as if it belonged to a simple set of truths in this world: the sky is blue, the sun rises and sets, Calvin and Cheryl O’Shea are good-for-nothing bums who pass out in their own bodily fluids on a regular basis.
Bobby didn’t laugh, but he probably knew it wasn’t a joke. He looked around the room for another minute, and Tommy realized he was doing a head count when Bobby asked, “Where’s Davey and Carrie?”
Colleen and Bobby headed into the kitchen and Tommy followed, noticing again how Bobby acted as if he lived there. It didn’t bother him, exactly, but it made him feel restless and frustrated in some way he couldn’t name.
“Sent them to bed. Mikey is getting ready to do the same. Can’t move Collin from the sofa, though. Says he wants to finish whatever movie he’s watching, and I don’t have it in me to argue with him any more tonight.”
Bobby dug into the bag and passed Colleen the medicine just as Zoe tried to squirm out of her arms.
“Thanks,” she said as she took the boxes and passed Zoe over to Bobby.
The baby reached for him. Tommy could have laughed then too. Zoe didn’t like strangers, but Bobby had made so many visits to their home—on official business—that she treated him like family.
“No problem,” he murmured, pressing a small kiss to Zoe’s hair just as Tommy had done when he picked up Max. He started pacing, bouncing the baby in his arms and whispering to her, “It’s okay, we got your medicine, you’re gonna feel better soon.”
Zoe was still whimpering, looking worn-out and uncomfortable, but she was settling under Bobby’s tender tones and gentle steps. The image made Tommy’s breath catch. It twisted and tightened something in his chest that felt like it might break now.
“I’ll go get Collin up to bed,” Tommy said, his voice a rough whisper, not sure what to do with himself with this new person in the mix.
Colleen nodded as she started reading the back of the little bottle, serving up a dose for each of the babies. He could feel Bobby’s eyes on him as he strolled back into the living room with Max still in his arms.
Collin was sound asleep, curled up on the couch with the remote tucked in his hand. Some old sci-fi movie played on the TV, black-and-white, with a girl screaming as she ran through the woods with a bright light chasing her down. He muttered a curse as he turned off the television before reaching to nudge his little brother. “Rise and shine, kiddo.”
All he got in return was a mumble and a slight stir before Collin shifted and rolled over. Tommy shook his head, smiling fondly and thinking Collin was a lot sweeter when he was asleep and not swindling classmates out of their milk money or filching something off the back of a delivery truck with Davey. The kid worried him no end. Collin was growing up to be either a genius or a thug. Tommy hated it, but he knew which direction he’d bet his money.
He quietly wandered back to the kitchen, sidestepping a small pile of toys on his way. “I got these for the kids tomorrow,” he heard Bobby say as he rounded the corner. Bobby was passing the box of doughnuts over to Colleen.
“Bad for their teeth,” Tommy pointed out, not even sure why he was being such an ungrateful prick.
Bobby looked bashful for a flash of a second, like a kid caught doing something despicable, but then he shrugged and twitched a guilty smile at Tommy.
Colleen shot her brother a glare and then turned to Bobby. “Thanks, Bobby. I’ll let ’em know they’re from you.”
Tommy could tell Zoe had already had her dose as Colleen came over to give Max his. The baby fussed in his arms when he saw the little dispenser filled with purple fluid, but Tommy stroked his back and shushed him, and the boy let his sister give him the medicine. “There,” Tommy whispered, pressing another light kiss to Max’s temple. “We gotcha.”
Colleen started to wipe down the counters. Mike had done the dishes, but things were still a mess. “Collin go up to bed?”
“Nah, he’s out like a light. I’ll carry him up after I get the twins to bed. You go on up, you look beat,” he told her, nodding toward the door.
“You sure?” Tommy knew from the look in her eyes she was grateful to the point of tears, but also willing to stay up and make sure everything was done if he wanted her to. It broke his heart a little.
“I’m sure I’ll kick your ass if you don’t get upstairs and get to bed.”
“Thanks, Tommy.” Pausing as she started to pass him, Colleen pressed a small kiss to his cheek, then to Max’s. The baby looked almost as tired as her, his eyelids drooping, then snapping back up, his thumb tucked between his lips. “Bottles are ready for ’em, if they’ll take anything this time.”
“I got it, you go on.”
She flashed him one more weary smile. “Night.” She looked at Bobby and added, “And good night, Bobby, thanks for stopping in.” She disappeared through the door as if afraid some new emergency would drag her back and keep her from her bed.
“Night, Colleen,” Bobby said too late; the girl already gone.
“You can go on, I got this.” Tommy cradled his brother in his arms.
“You kidding me? And miss out on these cuddles? No way.”
He grinned like it was a joke, but he held Zoe closer and settled down into a chair at the scrubbed pine table.
Tommy could only shake his head, wondering what was wrong with a guy who could be out getting laid but decided to stay in and feed a sick baby. “Either you party way too much,” Tommy told him as he passed one of the bottles over to Bobby, “or not nearly enough, if this is your idea of fun.”
Bobby laughed as he took the bottle. “There’s lots of kinds of fun.” He tipped Zoe into his arms so she could reach her bottle and smiled again when she took it greedily. “This is one of ’em.”
“If you say so.” Tommy had settled at the table with Max in his lap and was feeding him as well. Max’s hand curled around the bottle for a moment, and then he reached up to touch his brother’s face. Tommy brushed a small kiss to the tiny, pudgy fingers, rocking him without even realizing he was doing it at first. He’d never admit it out loud, and he didn’t find this fun exactly, but there was a certain comfort from it, as if these kids kept him just as safe as he meant to keep them.
“I do,” Bobby murmured, looking over at Tommy and then down at Zoe. He tightened his hold on her, as if he inten
ded to keep her to himself.
Before long, both babies were sleeping peacefully, seeming comfortable and in need of the rest. “I hate to put ’em down, don’t wanna wake them…,” Tommy whispered as he started to rise from his seat.
“They’ll sleep better in their own beds.” Bobby stood with him. “Which way?”
Another crunch of unease bit at Tommy. He didn’t want someone who had the ear of social services seeing anything in their house, let alone the tiny bedrooms with too many beds crammed into them. “Upstairs.” He swallowed his nervousness as he led the way.
The twins shared what would be a master bedroom with Collin, Davey, and Mike. One crib and two bunk beds. The babies were already too big to share the crib, but they slept better when they were together, and hell, there was no room for them anywhere else. When Max was older, he could take the spare bottom bunk, and Zoe could go into Colleen and Carrie’s room, but until then, this was it.
Leaning over the crib railing, Tommy gently set his brother down. He found Max’s blanket and draped it over him before tenderly sweeping his hair back from his face. Bobby did the same with Zoe then stood back as Tommy raised the side again, locking it in place before switching off the small lamp on the dresser next to them.
“I’ll get Collin,” Bobby said, starting to turn out of the room.
“Nah, he’ll flip if he wakes up and you’re carrying him. He’ll think he’s headed to foster again.”
Bobby looked as if he was going to say something meaningful, but all that came out was “Oh, right.”
They all remembered the one time the kids had been removed from the home. Collin was only three at the time, but even seven years later, it still put a chill in his eyes whenever they talked about it. The boy had fought like a lion, raging against the caseworker as she tried to pick him up and carry him to the car. Collin bit the hell out of her. She let her temper flare with a totally unprofessional curse.
Tommy, only fifteen at the time—not old enough to stop it, but old enough to understand—told the woman she should’ve minded her own damn business and let them be. Then he added that that’s what you got when you messed with an O’Shea, and Collin was a good boy.
Several months had passed before they were all home again. They were worse off in the state’s hands than they were in their own parents’—and that was saying a lot.
As much as he resented Cal and Cheryl, he had to be grateful to them for pulling it together long enough to get the kids back. Cheryl could have easily bailed on them. She had only been a part of their family for a few short months, and Christ knew she didn’t care about any of them.
Their first night back home that summer, Tommy promised them he’d never let it happen again. A stupid thing for a fifteen-year-old kid to promise, but so far, he’d made good on it. “I’ll keep us together, or I’ll die trying,” he had told them.
“I was there that day,” Bobby blurted out suddenly as they crept into the hallway.
Confused, Tommy stared at him. “What?”
“That day… the day social services picked you guys up. I was jogging by and stopped when I saw the cops and stuff. I….” Bobby glanced at the floor before looking back to Tommy. There was that half smile again. “I was glad you didn’t have a gun.” He snorted a laugh and added, “I wasn’t sure who you would’ve shot first, the social worker or the cops hauling your parents off.”
Tommy took that in, ignoring the faint glimmer of embarrassment trying to spark up inside him. “The social worker. She had the kids.” He knew it was a harsh thing to say, but he remembered how he’d felt that day. He had never been so angry and scared. He shook off the memory and quietly made his way downstairs.
He found Collin still asleep on the couch and scooped him up with a small grunt. The kid was turning ten in a few weeks, and pretty soon he’d be too big to lug around. Tommy stepped around Bobby at the foot of the stairs and carried his brother up to bed.
When he returned, Bobby stood awkwardly at the door, shifting from foot to foot and—Tommy could swear—blushing slightly. He had his beef jerky in his hand. “I…. Well, I guess I better get going. Unless….” Not finishing whatever he was going to say, he looked oddly hopeful and nervous at the same time.
“Yeah, I need to hit the sack soon. Twins’ll probably be up again when that stuff wears off.”
“Right.” Bobby started to turn for the door, then hesitated and took another step before he turned back to Tommy. “Look, I….”
“Hey, yeah, hang on.” Tommy went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard under the sink. He had to snake his arm back so far it hurt, but he found the plastic bag under a strip of duct tape and peeled it from the wall. Their emergency money had dwindled down to tens and twenties instead of a few hundreds and fifties, but he had enough. Thank Christ, Tommy thought as he turned around on his knees. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Bobby standing over him.
“Jesus, warn a guy instead of sneaking up on him.” He huffed out a small laugh as he pulled a twenty-dollar bill from the bag and passed it up to Bobby.
Tommy caught an expression, quick and surprising on Bobby’s face, something that looked almost hurt when he saw Tommy pass the bill to him. “Oh… no, I don’t…”
“I’m not a charity case, Bobby. I take care of my own.” He knew it was a stretch considering the relief he felt every time they got food stamps, and he didn’t even blink over lifting something one of the kids needed, but there were limits and he preferred good, honest thievery and state support over owing anyone anything. Ever.
“Then why were you… if you had money here….” Bobby looked confused as he took the bill and shoved it into his pocket. “And I didn’t think it was charity, just… I’d do that for a friend, ya know?”
Tommy got to his feet, knowing he couldn’t have kept his eyes on Bobby’s face with Bobby’s crotch inches from his nose. “Because it would’ve taken another hour to come home, get the money, go back out…. The babies needed it sooner, not later. Colleen and Mikey were needed here and Davey and Carrie and Collin are too damn young to be out on the streets at two o’clock in the morning.” He answered all of Bobby’s questions on one breath and chose to ignore the friend comment, thinking they were far from friends. He didn’t make friends with people who could toss him in jail.
“Yeah, that… that makes sense, of course. I….”
As Bobby trailed off again, Tommy watched him for a minute. He half wondered what was going on inside Bobby’s head, and at the same time he tried to force himself not to care.
“But anyway, thank you for the loan and for the lift and… all that. Just… thanks.”
“Yeah, anytime, Tom, I… well, hell, anytime.”
There was that look again, like Bobby had more to say but couldn’t decide how to say it. After another long pause, he turned and headed for the front door.
THE ALARM clock would have been bad enough, but a crash and a curse and a loud cackle woke him up not even two hours later. Tommy swore and scrubbed his hands over his face before he ripped the covers back and shot out of bed. He wasn’t sleeping too well anyway. He’d been having dreams about Bobby McAlister standing over him in his kitchen with him on his knees. Only he wasn’t passing a twenty up to Bobby in his dreams. He was reaching a hand out, pulling open the snug-fitting jeans, and stroking Bobby’s cock, feeling its hard length pass through his fingers. Not the most restful sleep, but a lot better than going downstairs at half past four in the morning and dealing with the two useless excuses for life he had the privilege of calling his parents.
They hadn’t even managed to close the door, hadn’t made it as far as the living room. Cal and Cheryl were sprawled in the entryway, rolling around and laughing like the town idiots. A potted plant had broken and spilled out around them. Tommy cursed again, knowing how hard Carrie had worked to get those cuttings to take root and how Davey had lifted pots for her to plant them in. It was a nice little thing she wanted to do after learni
ng about plants and seeds and shit at school. Leave it to Cal and Cheryl to ruin something as simple and innocent as that.
Clenching his fists as he stood over the two, Tommy gave a light kick to his father. “Shut up,” he said, reaching to close the door. He jumped back when he saw a stranger on the porch.
The guy looked more embarrassed than dangerous. “I just need my fare.” He’d tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and looked at Cheryl and Cal as if they were a freak show.
“You’re shitting me.” Tommy was talking to the cabbie, but he glared down at his father and stepmother.
“I… no, they got out and said someone inside would pay. I….”
“You must be new,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head. Anyone within a fifty-mile radius of their house knew better than to give a lift to his parents without seeing the money first.
“Only been in town a few weeks,” the driver said, still staring at Cal and Cheryl as they tried to get up. Neither of them managed it.
Tommy leaned over Cheryl and stuck his fingers under the top edge of her blouse. He found a small wad of bills tucked in her bra strap. She protested loudly and slapped at his hand, but Tommy ignored her.
When he glanced over his shoulder at the driver, Tommy noticed his wide eyes and brows reaching for his thinning hairline. He couldn’t bring himself to care what a stranger thought of him or the rest of his family. “How much?”
“Uh, eighteen eighty. They promised me a good tip, but….”
Tommy counted out thirty dollars from the money and passed it over. “Promise is a promise, but word to the wise”—he nodded his head at his parents—“they ever hail you again, ask to see the money up front. You might not be so lucky next time, and it’s a pain in the ass when you gotta call the cops for this kind of shit.”
The cabbie muttered a thank-you and practically ran down the steps, as if he was escaping with his life and nothing else. Tommy could identify. Cal and Cheryl had that effect on people.