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“Why?” I cut in, raising my chin and squaring my shoulders. “Why offer me a job, let me work my own hours, pay me well? Why give me a car and offer to watch my kid? Why?”
Robby answered, “Because you’re family, Josh, and regardless of how the world has shown you otherwise, decent people—they don’t turn their backs on their family.”
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I took the offered job. I’d be stupid not to. Maybe it would help give Tommy and I a head start instead of living paycheck to paycheck and counting dimes.
When I went to hand in my two weeks’ notice, the manager at the bowling alley told me to leave on the spot and not to bother coming back. It was kind of a blessing because it meant I could start work with Robby right away.
The work was hard, especially considering I’d been used to merely handing out shoes and taking people’s money. The pay, however, was good—a little too good. I tried to talk to Robby about it. I specifically told him he was paying me way too much. He called me a dickhead and told me to get back to work.
The first day, I pulled Tommy out of daycare and let Kim watch him. She came by the job site twice. I didn’t know if it was for her benefit or mine but I was grateful she did because truthfully, I was worried about how they’d get along. The fact that Tommy didn’t want to leave her house when I’d gone to pick him up sealed the deal.
And so for the next two years, I didn’t feel so alone, at least not in the grand scheme of things. I had help, emotional and financial, and I no longer felt like I was cracking under the strain of my life.
Until she came along.
1
-Becca-
fear
fɪÉ?/
noun
an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm.
It’s also a completely strange and difficult and sometimes unjustifiable emotion.
I’ve lived with fear for all of the reasons listed above. But now I’m experiencing it for an entirely different one.
Uncertainty.
I look out the window while my grandmother speaks to me from the driver’s seat. “I want you to feel comfortable. My home is your home now. Your father…” she says, and I tune her out, choosing instead to focus on the trees that line the streets and the rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves. I wind down my window and inhale deeply, feeling the heat against my cheeks. Then I close my eyes and rest my head against the seat. It feels good just to be able to breathe. Just breathe. Because the simple act of breathing is a constant struggle when you live your life in fear.
Her car sways as she drives over a bump, pulling me from my daze. “There they are,” she says, and I look out the windshield at some guy opening the driveway gate. There who are? I think to myself. The guy smiles, or more like grins like an idiot and yells out to some kid running toward the car. He picks up the kid quickly and moves out of the way so Chazarae (or Grams, as she wants me to call her) can park in front of the house.
Once Chazarae’s out of the car, I grab the bag by my feet and hold it to my chest, looking up at the two-story house that’s apparently now my home.
“Rebecca,” she calls out and my eyes drift shut.
I step out of the car and meet her at the trunk. “Becca,” I tell her, my voice cracking from lack of use.
“What’s that?” she asks, the pity and confusion clear in her voice.
“My name’s Becca. Rebecca is my mother.” Was my mother, I should have said.
Her eyebrows furrow and the aged wrinkles around her eyes tighten when she quietly says, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I murmur, feeling guilty for her reaction. Slowly, I reach up, wanting to touch her, to show her that I’m the one who should be sorry. But the fear of uncertainty prevents the contact and I drop my hand to my side, the other still clutching my bag.
“This is the boy I was telling you about,” she says, just as the guy, still holding the kid, steps beside her. “Joshua, this is Becca. Becca, this is Joshua.”
She must have mentioned him in the car after I’d tuned her out because all I can think is what boy?
Joshua places the little boy carefully on the ground and removes his hat, revealing his shaggy dark hair and dark brown eyes—eyes that squint as they look directly at mine. He blinks hard and blows out a breath and I wonder if he’s spotted one of the many scars I try so hard to hide. Then I remember they’re not visible—at least not to anyone else.
“Hi,” he finally says, raising his hand between us. I look down at the hand, and then at my grandmother, panicked, pleading with her to understand me.
The confusion on her face passes quickly. She grabs Joshua’s arm and spins him to face her. “I’m glad you’re here. We need your muscles.”
Joshua’s still looking at me even though he’s facing her and I don’t know why. So I avert my gaze and look down at the little boy who’s looking up at me, his grin wide and unassuming. And I decide then and there that he may possibly be my favorite person in the entire world. He won’t ever care enough to ask questions I don’t want to answer—questions I’ve heard way too many times before.
I raise my hand in a small wave and he smiles wider. And I realize then that his smile is identical to Joshua’s. I quickly look between them both. Joshua must realize what I’m thinking, or at least guessing, because he says, “That’s my son. Say hi, Tommy.”
“Hi Tommy!” the kid shouts, and I almost smile.
