Dave smiled more to himself than to me, “No. Mark’s two years older than I am.” He stood in the little kitchen, making no move to sit with me.
“You said you haven’t seen him in a while. When was the last time you talked to him?”
Dave placed his hands on the chair in front of him, as if he needed the support. “I think I was five, maybe six.”
I felt my eyes grow wide, “You haven’t seen your brother in fifteen years?”
Dave’s gaze drifted off to the far wall, his voice distant, “Something like that.”
Questions flooded me, but I didn’t want to dig too deep and have him shut me out. Gingerly I prodded, “Where’s he been?”
“I don’t know.”
I felt like I should ease up on my questions, this was obviously a sensitive subject, but I couldn’t stop myself. “How can you not know where your brother is?”
Dave sighed. He slowly walked toward the couch, eyeing the empty space beside me. He took a seat just within arm’s reach of me and answered, “It’s complicated.”
I scooted closer to him, reached out and took his hand in mine, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but if you do, I’ll listen.”
Dave’s eyes stared at my fingers intertwined with his. I didn’t think he was going to say anything. After several minutes his gaze shifted to the far wall of the little apartment where the picture of the ‘65 Mustang hung. His voice was low, barely above a whisper. “Our dad left. Mom didn’t take it well. She stopped coming out of her bedroom for days at a time, sometimes longer. When she did come out, she wasn’t really there. I don’t remember Dad. When I try, I can picture Mom’s face, but I doubt I could recognize her if I saw her on the street.”
I already knew this much about his life. In high school I had been curious, and I had asked him how he got into foster care. He told me his mom didn’t want him and had signed over her parental rights to the state before Dave went to kindergarten. When I asked him if his dad was dead, Dave told me he didn’t remember his father. He had never mentioned a brother – not even once.
“Mark and I got placed in a foster home together in the beginning. The couple was nice, but I don’t think either of them were prepared for two little boys who basically had been taking care of themselves. I had never had any rules, so when a bunch were thrust on the two of us, I didn’t adjust well.”
I squeezed his hand lightly, but he didn’t react or move his gaze in the slightest. I asked, “The two of you were moved?”
Dave shook his head, “No, just me.”
Confused, I pressed, “Wait, the foster family kept your brother but sent you back to the state? I thought they always tried to keep siblings together.”
“They try, but if it looks like one of the kids is going to be a problem, it’s up to the foster family. Margaret and Dewey wanted to keep Mark. I was the reject. Our case worker said I had some sort of attachment disorder. She told Margaret and Dewy I might never adjust. She removed me so that Mark had a shot with them.”
I stared at this beautiful man sitting next to me. He had always seemed so withdrawn and alone: I chalked it up to being abandoned by his mother. His words were methodical, as if he were a doctor describing a clinical procedure. It sounded as if he had distanced himself from this memory long ago. “You said you didn’t adjust well? What’s that mean?”
A forced grin showed on his face, but his eyes were still focused on the Mustang picture on the far wall. “I just didn’t conform. After I left Dewey and Margaret’s house, I was placed with a new foster family, a few months later, a third. Somewhere in the mix, my case worker changed. The new one wasn’t assigned to Mark. Every time I saw her, which was next to never, she said Mark was fine, but I bet she didn’t have a clue where my brother was or, for that matter, who he was.”
“But you’ve always lived here?”
“No. I was in Missouri to start with, but one of my foster families wanted to adopt me. They did all the paperwork, got all the sign-offs, and then my foster father got a transfer out of state with his job. It looked like they were going to have to give me back to the state of Missouri until the adoption was approved. He must have had some friends somewhere because a couple days before my case worker was supposed to pick me up and place me in a group home, they got approval from Missouri for me to move with them to Nebraska.”
I knew this wasn’t the end of the story. When I met Dave, he was living with a vile woman two miles from my house. That couldn’t have been the foster mother who wanted to adopt him. “So what happened?”
“A couple days before the adoption was supposed to go through, Troy and Shelia had some outrageous fight and ended up separating. Eventually they divorced. Shelia wanted to keep me, but she didn’t work, so the state of Missouri wouldn’t let her adopt me on her own.”
Not fully comprehending, I asked, “So you were sent back to Missouri?”
“When the adoption didn’t go through, a new case worker was assigned who, once again, didn’t know me from a stray dog. The new case worker reviewed my file and decided I was adjusting better in Nebraska and somehow got me transferred – she decided to make me Nebraska’s problem.”
Dave didn’t look at me the whole time. The strain in his voice told me this was something he didn’t talk about. “How old were you when you moved here?”
He shook his head. “I must have been nine. I was in fourth grade. I can still remember Shelia telling me she was going to get a job and petition the state to be my foster mom again. I never heard from her after I left her house.”
My heart ached. How could one person go through so much? “Your brother, you never saw him after you were five?”
Dave squeezed my hand, but said nothing. Instead, he stood up from where we had been sitting on the couch and went over to the bed. I couldn’t tell if he needed privacy or what, but he didn’t answer me. His nerves were raw. I took another sip of the wine cooler, wondering what could possibly be the right move.
A friend would poke and prod until she got out everything he had been holding in. If it were me, there’s no way Libby would be sitting here on the sofa right now if I had just walked away. The pain in his eyes had been nearly unbearable to watch. Dave and I had just reconnected this morning, and I wondered if after everything we had gone through today, would added questions about his brother re-spark our friendship or drive a wedge between us.
The fiery kiss we had shared an hour or so ago was nowhere to be found. A coolness that had nothing to do with the temperature blanketed the air. If I were being honest with myself, the kiss had me re-evaluating our friendship. Friends didn’t kiss. I hadn’t kept in contact with him after high school, so how good of a friend had I been?
I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to share every minute detail of meeting his brother last night, and I wanted him to open up to me, but if I pushed too hard, would he push me away? It had been months since a man gave me goose bumps. Who was I kidding? No man had ever given me goose bumps before.
I downed what was left of the wine cooler. Glancing toward the refrigerator, I wondered if trying to find a little more liquid courage might not be in order. I wasn’t much of a drinker, so weighing my options, a second drink would likely knock me out. I unlaced my boots and set them neatly beside the couch.
I stood and stretched my arms high into the air. From this vantage Dave was lying on the bed, with several pillows lining a wooden headboard which stood halfway up the wall. His back was facing the outside of the bed, with a pillow clutched tightly to his chest. His body may have been a few feet from me, but Dave was a million miles away. I resolved not to ask anything else – if he wanted to talk, I wanted to be there to listen, but I wouldn’t pry.
Gingerly walking toward his bed, I felt the weight of each step I took. As I stood beside the bed, I didn’t feel right forcing myself on him. “Mind if I sit with you?”
Dave looked at me with the saddest eyes I had ever seen. I wanted to gather him in my ar
ms and tell him everything would be fine. His hand reached out to the empty space on the bed as he wordlessly patted the area in a silent invitation.
I sat upright, a little stiff. I was the least eloquent person I knew, and the fear of saying exactly the worst possible thing scared me into an uncomfortable silence. I scooted my body a little closer to his, away from the edge of the bed. When I did, he rested his head on my thigh. Instinctively, I began stroking his hair the same way Mom had done for me when I was a little girl scared of a thunderstorm.
Neither of us spoke for a long time. His straight dark hair felt like silk between my fingers. I resisted every urge for anything other than a comforting touch. I was here for him if he needed me. My eyes began to weigh heavily as the strokes of my fingers slowed.
Dave’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “Mark warned me to behave. He told me if I didn’t do what I was supposed to do, they would take me away.”
Moisture clouded my eye. When I didn’t ask anything, he continued, “I was a little Dennis the Menace back then. Margaret or Dewey would tell us to clean our rooms: ten minutes later Mark’s was spotless and I was busy drawing on walls.”
Dave paused as if the memory were tearing him up, but he kept going. “Or if we were told to go to bed, Mark would go without hesitating. I would need a drink, or a snack, or to go to the bathroom, or sometimes I would just go to my room and play with toys for hours. I found a lighter by the grill and melted the vinyl siding on the house. I figured out that curtains weren’t supposed to be used to build forts, too, and if they were, painting the fort’s name on the curtain was frowned on.”
“Mark was the perfect son. It didn’t matter how many times I was scolded, or how many times Mark tried to cover for me, I was the problem child. The day our case worker came to take me away, I swore I could change. I begged them to let me stay. I pleaded for one more chance. Mark even promised he would be double-extra good if I could stay.”
Dave lay with his head still propped on my thigh. I couldn’t see his face but felt the moisture from his tears on my leg. “But they wouldn’t listen. I don’t even remember what I had done, but it must have been pretty bad. Mark held my hand in the house’s front entryway. The case worker had already put what few possessions I had in her car. The last words I ever heard him say was, ‘But he needs me. Don’t take Davey away.’”
“Instead of answering him, the case worker asked me if I wanted ice cream. I told her I did. I let go of Mark’s hand and walked out the door.” Dave paused, his voice full of remorse and suppressed pain. “I think I was too young to understand I wasn’t coming back. I didn’t know that was the last time I would ever see Mark.”
“She placed me with a new couple that night. It didn’t take long for me to learn that I wasn’t going back to the house where Mark was. I begged my foster mom to take me back to him. The new foster parents who took me in told my case worker that I needed to see my brother. They even offered to take me to him. She would never set it up. I started acting out, way worse than I had done with Margaret and Dewey. I kept thinking that if my new foster parents gave me back, I would go back to Margaret and Dewey’s house.” Dave’s voice trailed off.
The memory he shared was so raw and painful it left me emotionally vacant. I hadn’t known him at all. I didn’t have a clue how awful his childhood had been. I wanted to say the right thing, but there were no words. I just lay there holding him. I slid down beside him on the bed, draping my arm over his broad shoulder. Nothing I could say would offer even a sliver of comfort to this man who deserved so much more.
“When acting out didn’t work and I had been placed in several new homes without Mark, I tried a new tactic. I became the model child, hoping I could go back to Margaret and Dewey. That didn’t work either.”
Dave reached over and shut off the lights. He let go of the pillow he had been clutching against his chest to make room for me next to him then covered us both with a blanket. Dave pulled me into him, grasping me instead of the pillow. His fingers glided over my back in a soothing way.
I lay in the dark listening to the rhythm of his breathing. After all the chaos of the day and heartbreak of Dave’s memories, I soaked in the comfort he offered me. Dave gave me a kiss on the forehead, then closed his eyes. I didn’t fight sleep. I welcomed the rest after one of the worst days of my life.
Chapter 16
Light streamed in from the miniature windows. They were so small they had probably been converted ventilation openings. Whoever had converted this second floor into an apartment had an architect’s imagination.
Reaching over to the other side of the mattress, I felt the bare sheet where Dave had been. My eyes snapped open as I scanned the little apartment – Dave wasn’t here. As grimy as I felt, a shower couldn’t be put off for another second. Remembering my backpack with my change of clothes was still in my car, I crept down the stairs to find Dave working on the purple pieces of a car parked in front of my Chevelle.
“Morning!” His booming voice made me want to retreat into one of his cabinets upstairs.
I waved a hand and found a smile, but couldn’t answer him. Pulling the heavy door of my car, I reached into the back seat and grabbed my backpack. He stood up from where he had been bent over the pieces of car strewn on the floor and offered, “Coffee’s already brewed.”
A twang of familiarity grabbed me – this was like being at home. Libby was obnoxiously chipper in the morning, too. I had class in two hours. That gave me more than enough time to get cleaned up, stop by the hospital to check on Libby and still be on time to class. “I’m going to grab a shower. I’ll be down in a few.” As I turned to go back upstairs, I noticed my car, asking incredulously, “You replaced my windshield? When did you have time to do that?”
He smiled, “Nice, right? I had one in the back for a restore I’ll be doing soon. I didn’t have a chance to put it in until this morning. The glue is still curing. It’ll be roadworthy in twenty minutes.”
Dave was beyond belief. Thrilled with the notion that no icicles would form on my nose from the hole in front of my face, “Thanks. What do I owe you?”
He tapped his head where the gash had been, “Well, since my head did the bulk of the damage to it, it’ll be my treat.”
Remembering how I had slammed on the brakes trying to throw him through my windshield made me cringe. He had to know I had purposely tried to knock him out, but he was going to pay for it? “Don’t be silly. Tell me what I owe you.”
Dave stepped toward me, his hands slid down my arms as he smiled and looked squarely into my eyes. “You’re paid in full.” He stood looking down on me for a second, his voice softer as he added, “Thanks for last night.”
The memory of last night crawled back into my consciousness. My heart still ached for him, but the distant stare I had seen him wear last night was gone. He looked. . . hopeful. I leaned into him, absorbing his warmth, as I murmured, “Thanks.” I motioned to my backpack over my shoulder, “Um, I’m going to grab that shower.”
Dave let go of me as I headed for the stairs.
The bathroom was underwhelming. The room was hardly bigger than my closet. I was greeted by a metal freestanding shower with a vinyl shower curtain, and an avocado green sink and toilet. It was easy to forgive the bathroom’s appearance when I turned on the water: the high pressure head shot scalding hot water into the shower stall. It felt so incredible I would have stayed until I had emptied the water heater if I weren’t a guest – wanting to check on Libby was another reason not to camp out under the shower head.
A small cabinet hanging to the left of the mirror held towels, each stacked neatly. Drying off was difficult because it looked like I was in a steam room. I hadn’t brought my hair dryer and opened the doors to the cabinet under the sink hopefully. I found a few toiletries, all standing label first, lined up perfectly, and spaced evenly from each other. I had never seen a more organized bathroom storage area. Everything in Dave’s life was neat and orderly – every
thing except me. In contrast, I was a walking mess.
With my skin still partially damp, I dug through my backpack and found a sweater and jeans. I wondered what I was going to do about my hair. I couldn’t go outside like this: my hair would freeze.
I tried to put the shampoo and conditioner back under the sink the way I had found it, hung the towel neatly beside the one already on the rack, and looked for anything that might be out of place. As I stepped out of the bathroom, Dave sat on his bed waiting for me. I sat on the couch to put my boots back on.
I still looked like a wet rat, but at least I didn’t smell like one anymore. Dave’s eyes locked on mine as he held out a steaming mug. It smelled wonderful. I was expecting coffee, but when I brought it to my lips, it tasted like a mocha latte. “Mmmm,” my voice offered in thanks.
Dave smiled, “It’s coffee with a kick. A packet of hot chocolate in a regular cup of coffee is a double shot of caffeine and a pretty sweet way to start the morning.”
I drained it quickly, not sure if it was because of the taste or the fact that I had no idea what to say about everything he had shared with me last night. I had always been a restless sleeper, but after we drifted off to sleep, his strong arms held me all night. Regardless of the awful memories he had shared or my own circumstance, I had never felt safer.
At the forefront of my mind was the fact that he had a brother he hadn’t seen in over fifteen years. Mark somehow knew the guy who had attacked Libby, scared Mrs. Bavcock and stalked me. It could have been an innocent relationship. For Dave’s sake as much as mine, I hoped it was. I didn’t want for Mark to be involved.
That kiss yesterday on Dave’s stairs was unexpected. If I hadn’t have gone to check on Mrs. Bavcock, I’m not sure where that kiss may have taken us. Dave had always been so guarded, not just around me, but with everyone. Last night when he opened up, it was as if once he started telling me about his past, he couldn’t stop.
His Frozen Heart Page 16