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“No one knew for certain, but people can be assholes.” Timmy looks off into the distance when he adds, “Can make your life miserable if they want to.”
The buzzer sounds, the loud jarring noise droning on for a full thirty seconds. I should be used to it by now, but it startles me every time.
“I love you,” Mom whispers as I fix my brother with a brief look that tells him the same. I see his face change, morph into an impassive mask. Showing emotion won’t do you any favors in this place.
As he lines up with the others, I notice a bruise blooming purple and yellow at the base of his neck, right in the back where his collar meets skin. I wish I never saw it. Knowing there’s nothing I can do to protect him makes me feel worthless.
* * *
Charlotte
Two days ago we buried my mother.
Two days, and the mourning period is officially over. My father announced he was taking the weekend, “heading to the casino,” and Christian is throwing a party at our house tonight.
Dad sat with me this morning for an uncomfortable minute, watching as I scarfed down a bagel before school, then asked if I was all right with him leaving. The question and the concern in his voice caught me off guard. My father doesn’t make a habit of asking for my permission.
And what was I to say?Please stay, Daddy. You just buried Mom. Remember her, your wife? So yeah, it would be uncharacteristically decent of you to stay home and comfort your children this weekend instead of fist pumping at the craps table and sucking down martinis with your barely legal girlfriend.Nothing would have convinced him to change his plans anyway.
The smell of his cologne turned my stomach. I took note of the brand new suit paired with leather sneakers, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, no tie. He was going for upscale, hip yet casual. I could have laughed out loud. My middle-aged father following the trends, emulating the look his favorite ESPN commentators sported—men who were more than twenty years his junior. And stay or go, what did it matter? It’s not like the two of us would be spending quality time together anyway.
“I don’t mind, Dad.”
“Hey,” he said, waiting for me to look up. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m doing my best. We’ve all been dealt a crappy hand, right?” The asinine gambling reference nearly sent me over the edge, but I bit my lip and fought to keep from crying. He wouldn’t appreciate the melodrama. I focused on the poppy seeds dotting my plate, nodding repeatedly through the uncomfortable one-sided exchange instead. “You’re working this weekend?”
“Yeah…Saturday and Sunday.”
“Ok, I’ll see you.”
Without a backward glance he made for the door, our father-daughter moment officially over.
Now it’s past midnight, the music is cranking, and the intermittent sounds of girls laughing and guys yelling above the din have me convinced I won’t get more than an hour’s sleep before my alarm goes off at five-thirty. I’m crying tears of loss and fatigue when I hear a knock at my door.
“Charlie?” The door opens and Wes sticks his face into the small opening the chain lock allows. “Charlie, it’s me.”
I throw the covers off and pad across the room. My instinct is to lie there pretending to sleep until he goes away, but at the same time I don’t want to be alone. Sliding the chain free, I turn back and get under the covers again.
“What’s up, Charlie girl?” He closes the door behind him carefully and comes over to sit at the foot of my bed. “Aw, shit. I was just gonna ask how you’re doing,” he leans over and wipes a thumb across my damp cheek, “but I can see those tears. I told your brother he shouldn’t have people over but Christian’s a dumbass. Guess I don’t have to tell you that.” That draws a nervous giggle from me. “There she is,” he whispers, smiling.
“Why are you friends with him?”
“Who?”
“My brother.” I pull the sheet up, using it to wipe my eyes. “I can’t figure it out. You’re normal, you’re nice, and he’s—”
“He wasn’t always this way. I’ve known him all my life. You were only seven when your mother had the stroke. We were thirteen. He was a different person before your mom got sick. Don’t you remember how it used to be? He was always teasing you, yeah, but he was good to you, looked out for you.”
“Looked out for me?” I roll my eyes. “No, can’t say I remember that.”
“I’m not gonna lie and tell you I don’t want to beat his ass now and then. I see how he treats you and it kills me. I tell him he needs to make sure you’re all right, that he needs to keep an eye on you now that you’re grown.” Wes looks away from me when he adds, “You’re sixteen now.”
I scoot up, sitting back against the headboard. “I’m invisible to both of them.” And then I really start crying. No, I weep. I weep big, fat, ugly tears. He hands me a shirt from the floor to wipe at my runny nose and eyes. Catching my breath between words, I let it all out. “I’m all alone now. She’s gone, my father’s always gone, and Christian...Iwishhe was gone. I hate him.” Wes is shaking his head, but I’m not about to listen to him defend my brother. “Ihatehim. When you’re around, yeah, he’s rude and bossy, but when it’s just the two of us, he’s worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“He barks orders at me, tells me to shut up, tells me I’m getting fat, tells me—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
