Complicated

by Kristen Ashley

  Even so, I liked to get him out of it. Give him something else. New scenery. A shake up of his routine that wouldn’t freak him out. So I tried to get out there one or two nights a week to take him out to dinner or bring some to him.

  And we had our Sundays.

  I always took him out on Sundays, and that day, while the weather was still good we were going to have a picnic on the river then go to my house to watch a movie and after that hit Tony’s Pizzeria in Yucca. Once we’d had all that excitement, I’d take him back home.

  Occasionally, he spent weekends with me, but since I sang Fridays and Saturdays, that was only when Gemini had another act in town.

  All this worked for Andy. We talked on the phone in the evenings, he got to take some adventures and he was good where he was all the rest of the time. It would also be good if he got a work placement. He liked people, he liked variety in the people he saw, and if it was steady and he knew his schedule, he settled in pretty easily.

  But now he was good with the way things were.

  Since it worked for Andy, it worked for me.

  He was in my door the minute I opened it after I’d parked.

  “Hey, buddy,” I greeted, jumping down.

  He just wrapped his arms around me and twisted his neck so he could rest his cheek on my shoulder, facing out.

  He was a big guy. At least six feet. And at twenty-four years old, obviously, he had the body of a man.

  If life had been different and he cared about things like keeping in shape, he’d also be different. Maybe his shoulders would be broad, not sloped. Maybe his little belly not there, but flat.

  But things hadn’t been different. He hadn’t gone on to be that football player that started for the varsity team his sophomore year (he was that good), his dedication to his sport building his body into the man he’d become.

  He was this Andy.

  I hugged him back and he jumped away, grinning big at me and saying, “Comics.”

  I turned to the car, reached in, grabbed a plastic bag thick with comic books off the passenger seat and turned back to him.

  He snatched them from me.

  “Candy,” he stated.

  I grinned up at him, did the turn and grab thing and he snatched that bag from me.

  He opened it, looked inside, and his face lit up when he turned his gaze to me.

  “Snickers.”

  He was excited. When he was excited, he’d have word-finding problems.

  He could speak full sentences and communicate well, unless he was excited, scared or having an episode.

  “Of course, Snickers. They’re your favorites. And Reese’s and Butterfinger.” I socked his arm. “I take care of my baby bro.”

  He nodded and jumped into me, giving me another hug where he put his cheek to my shoulder.

  I rounded my arms around him, closed my eyes and took him in.

  Not yet, my brain reminded me. Not yet, Greta.

  When he pulled away, I ordered, “Take those to your room, buddy. I gotta stop at reception real quick. Then we’ll go. That good for you?”

  “Yeah, Ta-Ta.”

  Ta-Ta.

  He’d called me that from way back.

  It had been his first word.

  When that became uncool, it was shortened to Ta.

  It was bittersweet having Ta-Ta back.

  He loped off three steps before he turned back to see if I was following.

  I looked him over when he did.

  I had no idea who his father was, like I had no idea my own, and the simple matter of that fact was that Mom probably didn’t either, on both counts (or at least I’d trained myself to think that way instead of her actually knowing and never telling either of us, something she’d flatly refused to do to the point I’d quit asking).

  But unlike me, who looked a lot like Mom, Andy had dark hair and dark eyes, a strong jaw and great cheekbones.

  He also had a scar that puckered his skin from his right temple, separating at the side of his eye like a bolt of lightning, one end going up and over, obliterating the outer edge of his thick eyebrow, the other end going down and carving into his cheek all the way to his upper lip.

  That scar ran into his scalp under his hair too, what with it being where his head had slammed into the side window, shattering it and going through.

  Though just as much damage had occurred when his head was bounced violently around on his neck, his brain slamming back and forth into his brainpan as the car lifted and rolled, only for the other car to hit them, stop them rolling, but making Andy crash his head into the front windshield.

  The side impact had ripped open his skin and fractured his skull.

  The front impact had just added insult to injury.

  His right side had been crushed, so I knew, under his clothes there were a bevy of scars I couldn’t see.

  Mom, on the other hand, had sustained a severe concussion, a fractured wrist, and seven broken ribs.

  It didn’t help matters for Andy that it had taken firefighters almost an hour to cut him, unconscious, out of the wreckage.

  Once they’d gotten her out, Mom had walked away on her own two feet. Gingerly, I was sure (I wasn’t there, just there for the aftermath).

  But she’d done it.

  His smile at me took my attention from my thoughts, and when he saw I was following him, he loped to the building and went through the door.

  I did too, pulling an envelope out of my purse.

  As I made it through the doors, I saw the staffer who’d been outside with Andy walking down a hall but doing it turned to me.

  “Hey, Greta,” he greeted.

  “Hey, Sean,” I called back. “Thanks for waiting with him.”

  He gave me a, “Never a problem,” with a brief wave and kept walking.

  I went to Renatta at the reception desk.

  “Hey, Greta,” Renatta said.

  “Hey, girl.” I slid the envelope on the shelf above her desk to her. “This month.”

  “Cool,” she replied, reaching out to take it. “We’ll get this processed. Thanks.”

  “Thanks back at cha.” I went on as she made a move to get out of her seat, “Have a good one.”

  “Will do, and enjoy the picnic with Andy,” she returned, getting up and moving to the office at the back with my envelope that had in it my monthly invoice and the check to pay it. “He’s been talking about your picnic all week.”

  “Awesome,” I replied. “Glad he’s looking forward to it.”

  “He always looks forward to his big sis,” she said on a smile and disappeared in the office.

  I looked down the hall where Andy’s room was.

  It was clean, wide, well-lit and had nice pictures on the walls, bulletin boards covered in notices on bright paper and stuff the tenants had made.

  I couldn’t have this, if not for Keith. If it wasn’t for him, I could likely never give anything this good to Andy.

  Keith and I had been dating for eight months when Mom had nearly killed my brother.

  And from the impact of that car right into Andy’s door then after, Keith had taken care of everything. Hospital bills Mom’s shitty insurance didn’t fully cover. Physical and occupational therapy her shitty insurance also didn’t fully cover. Then his first home.

  He’d asked me to marry him two months into Andy’s recovery and two months after that we’d had a small affair in Vegas that was quick, classy (or as classy as Vegas could be) and led to a four-day honeymoon that started there and ended in a cabin by Lake Powell.

  That had been my decision. Keith was taking care of Andy, I didn’t have the money for a big to-do, I wasn’t in the mood for it with what had happened to my brother, so I didn’t want Keith spending the money even though he said he didn’t care. He just wanted me to have what I wanted.

  That had been Keith.

  He always just wanted me to have what I wanted.

  But he was the hotshot, genius house flipper who’d made a mint from th
e first house he bought, gutted, renovated and turned over when he was twenty-two and kept doing that to more and more houses with bigger and bigger teams until that very day.

  I was a hairdresser.

  He was great with Andy, before and after the accident. He hated my mother with every fiber of his being (also before and after the accident).

  And he loved me.

  But I felt it. How much he could give. How much I couldn’t.

  He kept giving and giving.

  I knew I’d use him all up.

  And I did.

  But it was Keith who’d felt guilty about it. Guilty enough, he forced a divorce settlement on me that I didn’t want, at first refused, but after he sat me down and laid it out, I knew not only did he need to do it, I needed to take it.

  This meant my house in Glossop was paid for. The furniture in it was paid for. So was my Cherokee.

  And I had enough to pay for Andy’s home for a good spell.

  In the meantime, I had so low overhead, if I was careful, and with the extra I got from Gemini, I could keep that balance healthy and therefore keep Andy safe for a long time. Not only doing that, but having a decent life for myself in the process.

  So Keith looked out for me even though Keith was gone.

  And he looked out for Andy the same.

  In fact, he’d been out three times since I’d moved there, leaving behind Lawyer Barbie, coming to visit with Andy and check in on me.

  He’d also arranged with staff to pay the monthly bills all three times he’d come and had taken Andy out to buy new clothes.

  That had upset me. He was already paying those bills even no longer married to me.

  But that was Keith. He got annoyed when I confronted him about it so I shut up because the least I could save him was that.

  Andy came out of his room, taking me from my thoughts, and we walked out, both of us calling our good-byes to Renatta as we went.

  We climbed into the Cherokee, buckled up and headed to the river with me telling Andy what was contained in the picnic in the back.

  He approved.

  Then he said, “Football.”

  I glanced at him. “Football?”

  He looked from out the windshield to me. “Football, Ta-Ta. It’s on TV.”

  “Yep,” I said. “’Tis the season.”

  “Can we go and watch a game?”

  My heart lurched, my hands on the steering wheel tightened, but I forced my voice to light when I asked, “You wanna go to one at the high school?”

  He’d never asked me to do that. Keith had taken him to Broncos’ games, just the two of them, but Andy had never asked me.

  And I’d never gone with Keith and Andy because I couldn’t. I couldn’t hack it. I hadn’t been to a football game since the one I’d watched my brother play in the day before my mother picked him up from a party, drunk out of her brain, and shot into a dual carriageway she should have stopped at, getting hit by a car that was probably going about sixty miles an hour, only to fly into the oncoming lanes and get hit there too.

  “Yeah,” he answered excitedly. “Can we?”

  “Sure, honey,” I said softly. “I’ll find out the schedule and talk to Gemini.”

  “Okay.”

  I glanced at him again and saw he was looking back out the windshield.

  He spoke when I aimed my gaze the same way.

  “Can we go see Gemini again?”

  On an outing, I’d taken him to the club so he could see where I sang. He’d met Gemini. And at Gemini’s invitation, we’d been back several times.

  Gemini was almost as good with Andy as Keith.

  Then again, that was Gemini.

  “Sure. I’ll sort it all out.”

  “Okay.”

  “I forgot to give you Lou and the girls’ hugs,” I told him.

  I felt his gaze when he replied, “You can give them to me at the river.”

  I grinned. “Will do, buddy.”

  “Give them back,” he ordered.

  “I will.”

  “Okay.”

  And that was that.

  I kept grinning, only part of it forced, as I asked, “You want me to get you a Glossop Raiders sweatshirt to wear to the game?”

  More excitement, this time a lot of it, from his, “Oh yeah!”

  I stopped grinning in order to smile at the road and marked on my mental to-do list to go by the drugstore that had a section of fan gear at the back.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

  Because I’d be there with Andy.

  “We’ll eat hotdogs and nachos and drink big Cokes,” Andy continued.

  “Yup, baby bro, we’ll do all that.”

  “And Lou and Snow and Maple can come with us.”

  Snow and Maple.

  Lou’s daughters.

  Bill’s names.

  Lou had just been glad her husband had been so involved with wanting to name his daughters that she didn’t fight too much what, exactly, he’d wanted to name them.

  And in the end, as these things do, Snow and Maple became Snow and Maple. Snow, with her smile that sparkled like glitter, and Maple, who was sugary-sweet.

  “Definitely.”

  “It’ll be fun,” he declared.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay.”

  My brother fell silent.

  I drove.

  I did it not thinking about the fact that he’d started to drive, got his learner’s permit, but he’d never handled a car on his own.

  And he never would.

  But the life he’d been supposed to lead had ended in one.

  I did it thinking the fried chicken in the back that came from the deli at the grocery store in town was Andy’s favorite.

  And he was going to love it.

  We had our picnic.

  Then we went home and watched The Man from U.N.C.L.E. on my TV.

  After that, we went to Tony’s Pizzeria, got a big pie and Andy got a huge bowl of spumoni ice cream that was triple the regular bowl but at the same cost, what Tony always sent out for Andy.

  I took him back, got him sorted in his room, gave him a big hug, got one in return, and he had dug into his comic books before I’d walked out of his room.

  He’d always been a reader and liked writing too. His grades in English Lit and Comp had been top-notch.

  Now, he had some problems reading and writing but comic books were perfect. Thus he’d be through that huge pile before Tuesday, even if the staff kept their folks occupied with a variety of things, with Andy pitching in to help out because he was a lot more functional than many of them.

  I walked out of Sunnydown, got in my car, and for some reason, I wasn’t even at the town limits (way earlier than normal) before I had to start chanting.

  “Not yet, Greta.”

  I hit the Glossop town limits.

  “Not yet, girl.”

  I hit my neighborhood.

  “Not yet, baby.”

  I drove up my driveway, switched off the car, jumped out and walked to the side door.

  I let myself in, whispering, “Not yet.”

  I turned on the light on the counter in my kitchen that made the space seem so cozy.

  Then I went into the living room and turned on the light dimmed low by the side of my couch.

  I moved back into the kitchen, right to the stove, set the gas going and put on the kettle.

  Only then did I turn to the island, brace my hands on the edge and let it happen like I always allowed myself to let it happen so I could deal.

  In other words I let myself think of Andy’s sloped shoulders and how he’d look if he’d been able to be the man he’d been becoming.

  I let myself think of the fact that Andy had never, nor would ever drive a car by himself.

  He’d also never read In Cold Blood, not because he couldn’t, but because much of it he wouldn’t remember even after he’d just read it and the going would be so tough, it would only frustrate him and send him
into an episode.

  He wouldn’t ever have a girlfriend.

  He wouldn’t ever make love.

  He wouldn’t fall for someone, marry her, make babies with her, giving me nieces and nephews to spoil. Giving all of us big, crazy, loud holidays.

  My brother, my baby, my Andy, he’d never realize a dream. He’d never even feel the despair because he hadn’t realized one.

  He might not even remember what happened that day.

  I hadn’t been right when I’d told Lou I’d never hoped for anything, dreamed anything.

  I had.

  For Andy.

  From the moment he’d been put in my arms, I’d hoped and dreamed that he would have everything he could ever wish for. And I’d wanted to do everything I could to give him a life where he’d have the smarts and the strength to make that happen.

  I’d wanted him to have all I’d never had. I’d wanted to make him feel he was never missing a thing.

  I’d done all I could and he was on that road.

  He was on the road to being magnificent.

  Then she’d taken it all away.

  From Andy.

  From me.

  Now he was a different kind of magnificent.

  But that wasn’t what I’d wanted for my Andy.

  My eyes were shut tight holding the wet back when the kettle whistled.

  My time was done.

  I opened them.

  I sniffed.

  Then I turned around and made myself some tea.

  I took it to my porch and picked up my book.

  That night, I didn’t take in the calm of my street.

  I opened my book, and after the time it took me to force my mind to concentrate, I started reading.

  I wouldn’t let myself think again about all Andy had lost.

  Not until next Sunday.

  It’s Not That

  Hixon

  HIX WALKED INTO his department Monday morning to see Hal at his desk.

  “Yo, Hix,” Hal called and smiled a smile that Hix didn’t like all that much. “Good weekend?”

  Clearly, from his read on Hal’s smile, news that Hix had been to the Dew and had waited outside for Greta had made the rounds.

  “Yeah,” he grunted, moving down the aisle toward his office.

  As he got close to Hal’s desk, the man unsurprisingly (considering it was Hal) had the balls to ask, “This hairdresser the reason Bets is acting like she’s perpetually on the rag?”