The house I’d grown up in hadn’t changed in the years since I’d been kicked out, except to succumb to the weathering of age and disrepair. The constant stream of airplanes overhead didn’t help much with the ambiance.
John had never been much for maintaining things, too busy drinking or out with his friends to care about what was or wasn’t falling apart. And my mom had never been particularly healthy, even when I was young. As time and a hard life continued to wear her down emotionally, the rest of her had declined as well, making it nearly impossible for her to manage maintaining the house on her own.
Bad habits and lack of ability, or motivation, to seek proper medical care had prevented her from achieving any real goals. Not that she’d had big goals anyway. Getting pregnant before she finished high school had fucked things up pretty good for her. It was hard to beat down someone who was already half buried.
She couldn’t take care of things, so the dilapidated state of the house had grown progressively worse. I’d only been allowed back into their lives recently, apart from paying the occasional bill, so I hadn’t had much in the way of time or resources to help with upkeep. The first time I’d been back here was a few months ago, right after the trial started. The sorry state of the house had been shocking.
The pale blue exterior had faded to a muted gray, peeling in spots to reveal the washed-out sunny yellow it had once been when I was a kid. Today plastic still covered the windows, even though spring had arrived. The screen in the door was torn, and the frame hung askew. The front steps were wonky, having shifted from the repeated freeze-thaw cycle of winter over the years, settling on an angle and cracking at the edges. Ivy’s bike—one with pedals, not an engine—was double locked to the rotting wooden slats of the front porch. No one who wanted to steal it would have to try very hard—not that the bike was worth anything anyway.
An old, broken love seat rounded out the disheveled front with its stained, brown flowered fabric. The lawn, or what was left of it, hadn’t been mowed in a long while. Weeds had taken over, climbing halfway up the chain-link fence. This shitheap was a festering sore amid other blemishes on the landscape. In the absence of care, the decay had become too pervasive to cure.
I parked my bike in the gravel drive, noting John’s rig (currently without a trailer) on the street. Just because it was there didn’t mean he was home. Pocketing the keys, I headed up the front walkway, picking up pieces of broken beer bottle as I went. I hadn’t been here since my mom had called about the furnace being broken. Guilt over having left her and my sister here in this dump of a house sledgehammered me every time. Not that I’d had much of a choice.
John had been the one who sent me packing, and my mom hadn’t been in a position to take my side. I’d been a handful as a teenager—always getting into fights, messing around in school instead of listening to my teachers, talking back to John, and arguing with him until words and yelling became slaps and fists. I’d always lost those fights up until right before I got kicked out. Ivy had been young. My mom didn’t want her exposed to my bullshit, and I couldn’t blame her. But things were different now. Ivy wasn’t a kid anymore, and living like this wasn’t good for her. It made my apartment look like the Taj Mahal.
Ivy slipped out the door and jumped over the front steps to meet me. She threw her arms around me, but kept her voice low, her excitement tempered with nervousness. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
“I figured I should stop by and see you after you sent those texts.” I returned the hug, disturbed by the too-prominent ribcage beneath her threadbare shirt. After I set her down, I nodded in the direction of the rig. “Is he home?”
“Mom said one of his friends picked him up around midnight. He hasn’t come back yet.”
“When’d he get in?”
“Two nights ago, I think. I’ve been working a lot, so I haven’t been around much, and Mom had double shifts.”
“How is Mom?”
“Worried. She’s at work already.” Ivy chewed on her chapped bottom lip. “Her cell phone got cut off last week ’cause we’re behind on payments, so she hasn’t been able to make calls. I went to a payphone earlier to try to check in, but Dad didn’t pick up. I couldn’t call him on my cell or he’d ask questions about the number—you know, like we talked about?”
I hated that she made excuses for him. But I’d made the same kinds of excuses for our mom, so I could hardly fault her.
“Why don’t I take you out for breakfast and drop you off wherever you need to be after?”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yeah. For sure. You pick the place.”
“Okay! Let me get my uniform and my purse.”
I both loved and hated that something as simple as taking her for breakfast created that much excitement.
Ivy ran back into the house and reappeared a minute later, shoving clothes into a ratty backpack while fighting with the door. The back of her shirt rode up, exposing the edge of a tattoo placed right above her tailbone. From what I could see, the artist had been either an amateur or high when they’d done it. I bit my tongue so I didn’t say anything. If I’d been in her life sooner, I could’ve made sure she had a decent artist to work with, even if it wasn’t me.
The stairs creaked as I climbed them, protesting my weight.
“Watch the third board to your right.”
I looked down to find a gaping hole in the front porch. Splintered wood littered the space around it, the rotten board having given way under someone’s foot. This place was an infestation of cockroaches away from condemnable.
I took the bag so she had a free hand. “We need to do something about this before someone gets hurt.”
“I keep meaning to put a board over it.”
It shouldn’t have been her responsibility, but John, waste of space that he was, rarely took care of anything but himself.
Ivy yanked on the door, and it finally slammed shut. Locking up, she followed me down the steps to my bike. I adjusted the spare helmet and passed her the leather jacket I’d gotten for Sarah. I hadn’t wanted to risk any of that beautiful skin of hers when she rode with me. The jacket was way too big for Ivy, Sarah being much taller, but it did the job.
Ivy decided on an all-you-can-eat buffet. I followed behind her as she loaded up a plate. “Oh my God, Chris, there are so many options. I want everything.”
“You can have everything.” I stole a strip of bacon from her plate.
“Hey!” She elbowed me in the side.
I motioned to the giant tray full of bacon. “They’re not going to run out, Ivy. You can come back as many times as you want.”
“I’m hitting the waffle station next.”
“Good call.”
Once her plate was heaped with food, we sat down, and she dug in. I could tell she was trying not to scarf everything down, but had trouble holding back.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a buffet breakfast,” she said between mouthfuls.
“I’ll bring you here anytime you want,” I replied.
My mom had never been much of a money manager. Neither had I when I first started out on my own. But I’d learned quickly what it meant to have money in the bank, and that living paycheck to paycheck wasn’t something I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
Cutting out drugs and limiting booze sure helped a lot. Getting into business with Hayden had forced me to manage myself better. I may not have had much in the way of education, but I had good people to keep me in line and make sure I didn’t fuck things up.
My mom didn’t have that kind of support, and she’d never figured out how to make what she had last. I had no idea how much of that was John and how much was her. But lack of education, low-paying jobs, and a loser husband weren’t a good combination.
Watching Ivy stuff her face made me wonder how difficult their financial situation had become. She ate with one arm wrapped protectively around her plate, as if someone was going to steal it from her.
She looked just like our mom had at nineteen. Except she didn’t already have a two year old hanging off her hip. Her hair was the same shade of coppery brown, with a slight wave. She had chocolate brown eyes, framed by thick lashes, and a heart-shaped face. She was pretty in a sweet way. But way too thin.
I’d seen more than one guy check her out since we came into the restaurant. I didn’t like the idea that she was probably dating by this point. Ivy had grown up in a home with a dick for a dad who treated our mom like shit. I didn’t want her to end up continuing the cycle—being taken advantage of by some asshole who could sense how broken she was.
It took me a long while to recognize I’d made a habit of seeking out broken women, though not to take advantage. And I didn’t honestly believe I could fix them. People can only fix themselves. But the closer they matched me in their level of damage, the safer I felt—the easier it was to keep up my walls. Until Sarah. She might be broken, but she’d put up a good front at the very beginning. Since then she’d slipped through my cracks and fractured them, making me covet the possibility of something more, although I doubted she knew that even now.
“What?” Ivy asked, swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs and swiping at her chin with a napkin.
Shit. I must have been staring. “You doing okay? You’re looking thinner these days.”
Her eyes dropped to her plate. “I’m all right. I get busy with work and forget to eat.”
“You sure you forget, or are you coming up short for grocery money?”
She tensed and shoved a forkful of pancake into her mouth.
“Come on, Ivy. You leave me these cryptic messages and then wanna pretend there’s nothing going on? What’s happening?”
She set her fork down and finished chewing. When she lifted her gaze, she seemed put out by my questioning.
“I just wanna help however I can, okay? Is it John?”
The waitress stopped by to freshen our coffee. Ivy was on her fourth cup.
“Can you bring her one of these smoothies?” I pointed to the card at the end of the table, advertising fresh fruit blended with yogurt. “You want this?” I asked.
“Regular juice is fine.”
“She’ll have one of these as long as they’re made with real fruit and not some sugary syrup junk. Please.” I tacked on the niceness, hoping I didn’t come across as harsh.
The waitress assured me they were indeed made with real fruit. Once she was gone, I turned back to Ivy.
“You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with orange juice or something.”
“Screw that. I’m treating my baby sister to breakfast. You get the good stuff, not the crap they reconstitute with water.”
Her smile was exactly what I’d wanted to see, but it faded at my next question.
“Now tell me what’s going on. Is Mom okay?”
She smoothed her napkin out on the table. “She’s got another cough.”
She’d also had one this winter when I was there about the furnace. “She been to the doctor?”
“Uh-huh. She told me he said it wasn’t anything to worry about, but I found this in the garbage.” Ivy pulled out her tattered wallet. I recognized it as one I’d gotten for her for Christmas a couple years back. I’d left it in the mailbox since I wasn’t allowed in the house at that point. I’d never even known if she’d gotten it or not until now. It was girly, a faded teal with a white and yellow daisy pattern. She withdrew a small slip of paper, unfolding it and pushing it across the table. It was a prescription for antibiotics issued three days prior. If she still had the paper, it hadn’t been filled.
“Shit.”
“She needs that medication. I can pay for it, but then I won’t have enough to cover the water bill.”
“What about John? Didn’t he just come back from some big job?”
Ivy poked at her food but wouldn’t look at me.
“Ivy? Why doesn’t John pay for it?”
“Things aren’t real good between him and Mom right now. He hasn’t been staying at the house much when he comes back between jobs. They got into a big fight a while ago about money, and then he left on one of his runs, saying maybe this time he wouldn’t come back at all.”
I bit back all the nasty things I wanted to say. John was still her dad, even if he was an asshole. “Obviously that was an idle threat if his rig is parked at the house.” Our mom wasn’t very good at standing up for herself. Or her kids.
“You know how it is sometimes. Dad’s got a temper and Mom gets… Well, he told her she wasn’t grateful for what she had. He was gone for a few weeks, and she figured he’d calm down. She kept calling him until her phone got cut off. I guess he must’ve forgiven her since he’s back and all. But she’s been really upset about it. I think all the stress must’ve made her sick. She took on all these extra shifts at both jobs to cover all the bills, and so did I, but I guess we got behind a bit.”
That explained why I hadn’t heard from my mom recently. While we weren’t especially close, we usually talked every couple weeks, sometimes more, even if it was only for a few minutes, or because she needed money for something.
“Why’d you wait to call me? I could’ve helped you out.”
She mashed up a strawberry with her fork, the liquid soaking into her half-eaten pancake, turning the edges pink. “You put out all that money in February for the furnace and stuff. I didn’t want to ask you—”
The waitress stopped by with the smoothie. Ivy seemed relieved by the interruption. Her eyes fluttered shut as she took a sip, like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
I held up the piece of paper. “I want you to call me for stuff like this. What about the cell phone bill? How much is owed on that?”
She looked both grateful and embarrassed. “A few hundred maybe? I’m not sure.”
“Can you get me the bill?”
“I should be able to.”
“You get it for me, and I’ll pay it directly.”
I’d learned the hard way that if I handed over cash, it never went where it was supposed to. My mom would invariably either give it to John for whatever bullshit expenses he deemed important, or he’d find it squirreled away in one of her hiding places and take it. At least that’s what she’d told me in the past.
“Thanks, Chris. I didn’t know what else to do. I can cover the basics for food and stuff, but the bills keep piling up, and I don’t know where the money goes.”
I had a pretty damn good idea where it was going. I imagined any threat from John about my mom managing on her own would be accompanied by some kind of purposeful sabotage on his part. If I didn’t think it would do more harm than good, I’d have a talk with him. But since I didn’t live in that house, I could never be sure what the repercussions of something like that would be.
“Calling me was exactly the right thing. We’ll get this sorted.”
“I’m sorry to put you out like this.”
“You’re not putting me out.” The alarm on my phone buzzed in my pocket, alerting me that I should get to the shop if I didn’t want to be late for my first appointment. “You need another round at the buffet? I gotta get to work soon, but I don’t want you leaving hungry.”
She glanced longingly at the waffle station and rubbed the flat expanse of her stomach. “I wish I had more room. If I eat anything else, I’ll go into a food coma.”
I signaled the waitress over. “Can I get a takeout box?”
She gave me a nervous smile. “There’s no takeaway with the buffet, sir.”
“I know, but my baby sister here would love another waffle; she just doesn’t have the room for it right now. How about you charge me whatever it costs for an extra breakfast, and she can get one to go?”
“You don’t have to do that.” Ivy’s cheeks went pink with embarrassment.
“You can have breakfast for dinner, or lunch,” I replied.
The strain in our waitress’s polite smile faded. “That’s so sweet. I’m sure that’d
be fine.”
She came back with a takeout box. Inside was a huge Belgian waffle, with covered plastic ramekins of fresh strawberries, sauce, butter, and whipped cream lined up on the side. “I would’ve brought you the ice cream, but it’d melt, unless you want it in a separate container with a lid that seals?” She looked to Ivy.
“That’d be great. You’re a doll,” I answered before Ivy could say no.
“I only charged you for the extra waffle, not a whole breakfast.” She slid the check across the table with a wink, and I passed her my credit card.
When she returned I added a generous tip, bagged up the takeout, and hit the road.
I dropped Ivy off at work. It was the first time I’d ever seen her place of employment. She should’ve been in school, in some kind of art program. I’d seen her transcript on the table when I’d been over about the furnace. She’d had great grades in high school—so good that she should probably be on a scholarship somewhere, getting a diploma she could use to get a better paying, less physically taxing job. But if there wasn’t enough money to cover a prescription for antibiotics, there sure wouldn’t be enough to cover any of the expenses associated with college.
I wasn’t pleased about the seedy location and the even seedier exterior of the sports bar. Apparently Ivy had gotten the job a few months ago through an acquaintance of John’s. Before that she’d been a cashier at a convenience store close to the house.
“My buddy’s girlfriend can probably get you hooked up with a better job than this. She’s got a friend who works in one of the popular bars on the north side.” I used the term friend loosely. Hayden hated that douche, Ian, who worked at Elbo. I wasn’t so sure I wanted Ivy working with someone like him, but it had to be better than this skeezy joint. Plus I could keep an eye on her, and that guy was already scared of Hayden, so it wasn’t like he’d try something on my sister.
Fractures in Ink Page 8