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“Trouble at school,” I say, but turn to face her. “Is he still sneaking out?”
Mom shrugs, her weak shoulders barely lifting an inch before they fall back down.
“I wish Dad was here.”
“Me too, honey.”
My father knew how to fix everything. He wasn’t the most forgiving man. He was set in his ways and had ideals about life that just don’t mesh with modern society, but he loved his family until the day he died. He was the only male influence Alex had, and that was ripped away from him in a work accident six years ago. Alex has never been the same.
“That kid needs a male role model,” my mother supplies as she tries to unpack canned goods from the bags Alex placed on the table.
“I’ll do that, Mom.”
I know she wants to be helpful, but she tires easily.
“Cooper called earlier,” she continues, talking while unloading groceries.
I turn around to unload my own bags, so she doesn’t see how hard my eyes roll.
“Yeah? What did he want?” Money. The answer is always money, like we’re hiding some trust fund from him or something.
“He was just checking up on me. He got a new job, but he doesn’t start until next month.”
“How much money did he ask for?”
“He didn’t.” She’s a horrible liar. “But I did offer him a place to stay.”
I spin back around. “What?”
She doesn’t meet my eyes, and my jaw hurts from keeping my mouth clamped so I don’t say hateful things to my sick mother.
“He’s going to be working on those oil rigs out in the ocean.”
A perfect job for my brother. With his criminal history, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s one of the few jobs he’s able to get.
“It’s so dangerous,” she muses, turning the cans to face the same direction in an attempt to not look in my direction.
She’s well aware of how I feel about my older brother. He’s been in trouble for as long as I can remember. He lived here with my grandmother before we did because Dad made him leave our house in San Antonio seven months before Dad lost his job, which forced us back to Houston for a couple of years.
“Is he coming or not?” I don’t really have a right to put my foot down and tell this woman what she can or can’t do with her house, but I have a son to worry about, and Cooper Holland, Jr is not the type of man I want around my impressionable kid, especially not when he’s looking for anything outside of my guidance to grasp onto.
“He said he didn’t know.”
This time, I can’t tell if she’s lying or not. Hell, for all I know, the man will be in the house casing it for sellable items before the sun comes up tomorrow.
I snort a laugh at the thought of having anything valuable in the house. We had to sell everything long ago to pay medical bills. If it wasn’t for Mom qualifying for Medicare, we would’ve lost her long ago. Chemo is incredibly expensive, and something only millionaires are able to pay for out of pocket. We’re far from being rich.
“What do you want for dinner?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.
If we stay on the topic of my brother long enough, it’s going to change to speaking about another man from my life and my mother’s disappointment in not “letting” him help take care of Alex. Dad hated Ignacio, but Mom was always fond of him. I know it had more to do with his charming personality and those dark, mysterious eyes than anything else. My mom has always been a sucker for a handsome man.
“I’m not hungry, dear.”
“Mom,” I groan, knowing how tonight is going to end up. “You have to eat something. What about taco soup? I can make it mild, hardly any spices.”
“Then you and Alex won’t enjoy it.”
“Enjoy what?” my son asks as he brings in the last load of groceries. Without being asked, he begins to help put them away, and I know he’s doing it to be helpful, but also in part because he thinks he can task his way out of being grounded. He should’ve learned by now, I don’t give in, no matter how much he helps.
“Taco soup,” Mom says.
“I love taco soup,” Alex says with a wide grin. “But Mom made it too spicy last time.”
Although my son is a better liar than my mom, I let it pass this time. He knows it’s Mom’s favorite meal, and as much as he loves it too, he knows she can’t eat it the way we used to.
“Can you make it less spicy?” he asks as he turns in my direction.
“I can.”
“I’d love some taco soup,” Mom says, her heart big enough to eat just because it makes her only grandson happy.
