Thirty-nine
They don’t take me away from James, though I suspect it’s a close thing.
After we’ve both been interviewed by Child Protective Services and they’ve determined living with my brother is the most stable option for me, he’s there, reaching for my hand when they inform us our father didn’t have health insurance and never bothered to sign me or James up for state health care. We should expect an enormous bill in three to four weeks.
By the time we’re through with all the release papers, James looks beaten, both physically and emotionally. I see a massive bruise on his forearm that wasn’t there when he left last night but when I ask about it, he shakes his head and leaves to get another cup of coffee.
Detective Lilly is our last visitor.
James wheels me from the lobby where the nurse left me into a small meeting room where the detective lounges comfortably in what looks like a very uncomfortable hospital chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch my brother size him up, standing a little taller when Detective Lilly rises to shake his hand.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” he says. “Your reputation at the Armory precedes you.”
James grunts. “Those guys run their mouths too much.”
“It’s a pleasure all the same. I did a little boxing myself back in the day. As I told Sarah, ol’ Knockout had his way with me more times than I’d care to admit.”
James frowns at me and I realize he doesn’t know that the detective and I have already spoken. I ignore him, but Detective Lilly sees everything.
“She didn’t tell you? We met Sunday afternoon when I stopped by the house to ask a few questions about your mother’s death. I had hoped to speak with you as well, but you weren’t home. Maybe we can talk before you leave today?”
“Sure.”
Detective Lilly launches into his questioning, leaving me no time to be grateful for his omitting Sam. Recounting every awful detail of what our father did to me in front of my brother nearly kills me, especially the parts my mind is already starting to block out. James shoves away from the table before the end, looking equal parts furious and disgusted, and storms out of the room.
“Your brother is very… passionate,” Detective Lilly observes. “Have you had any trouble with him? Any arguments that turned physical? Any inappropriate behavior?”
Fear slides up my spine and spider-webs across my skin. “No, never.”
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Miss O’Brien? Anything you may have left out of our last conversation that might help me keep you safe?”
When his dark eyes pin me in place, I lose the ability to speak. What is with him? He clearly knows the effect he has on people, so I have to wonder how intimidating the victim helps anything. The tiny flare of irritation gives me the strength to shake my head.
“Carry on, then.”
It takes five very long minutes to finish telling the detective what happened and answer his follow up questions. James never returns to the room, and when I wheel myself out into the hallway, I’m not surprised to see him slumped in a chair in the waiting room, looking like he’s been crying again.
“Detective Lilly is ready for you,” I say when I finally reach him.
He stares past me, unfocused and unblinking. The living dead.
“James?” I shake his arm. “Hey, everything’s going to be fine. Just go talk to the detective and we’ll go home, okay?”
“How can you say everything’s gonna be fine after what Dad did to you?” His eyes shift, a sick pool-water blue instead of sapphire when they finally focus on me. “How can you ask me to take you home when every time I look at that kitchen, I’ll know what I almost lost?”
“Because everything is going to be fine,” I insist. “Now that Dad’s in jail, we can start over. That’s what I want more than anything.”
James leaves me in the waiting room with his sweatshirt and the backpack he brought with my change of clothes. Gingerly, I slip my arms through the sleeves and worm the sweatshirt over my head. The burn on my side screams in protest, but when James’s cell phone falls in my lap, I forget the pain.
I frantically scroll through James’s contact list and find Sam’s number. Hitting SEND, I fix my gaze on the door that separates James from me and the phone call he’d kill me for making.
“This better be important, asshole,” a sleepy voice grumbles. “You haven’t talked to me in weeks.”
I imagine him in bed, hair mussed up and an arm thrown over his eyes. “It’s me. I’m at the hospital and only have a second, but I wanted to tell you I’m okay.”
Fabric rustles and Sam curses. “You’re in the hospital? Why? What happened?”
“Um,” I glance at the meeting room. The door is still closed, but for how much longer? “There’s no time to explain, but I swear, I’ll call you as soon as I can. I miss you.”
“Wait—”
I hang up, delete the call log, and stuff the phone in James’s pocket. Not a moment too soon, because my brother throws open the meeting room door and stomps toward me a few seconds later, looking far more pissed off than he did before.
“We’re leaving,” he snaps and grabs the handles of my wheelchair with far more force than necessary. We’re through the lobby and out the hospital doors before I can blink.
“What happened? What did he say?” I clutch my side when he shoves the chair over a speed bump in the parking lot.
“He thinks I did it. He thinks I killed Mom!”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
“Every question he asked was a trap. When I refused to answer, he threatened to take you away until I cooperated, but he can’t and I know it. He said he knows about me and Leslie. He says I got the drugs from her.”
“How could he even think that?” My brother hasn’t been himself for weeks, but I don’t believe he murdered our mother for a second. He loved her more than anyone.
“No fucking clue, but that doesn’t change anything.”
“Should we find a lawyer?”
“We can’t afford a lawyer.”
The wheelchair grinds to a halt beside his truck and he opens the passenger door.
“James, we have to talk about this. We have to do something. I won’t let them blame you for what he did!”
“I’ll take care of it.” He slides his arms behind my back and under my knees. “Put your arm around my neck. If this hurts too bad, I’ll let you punch me afterwards. Deal?”
I do what he asks, but I don’t let him change the subject. “How will you take care of it without a lawyer?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
Far gentler than the nurse who “helped” me into the chair an hour ago, James scoops me up and positions himself to lower me into the seat. My head may be hurting less, but there’s just something about burns that make them hurt way worse than they should. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood in anticipation of the pain that’s about to come.
Without bumping into anything, he sets me down and kneels on the sideboard to do my seatbelt. “I’m not an invalid,” I say. “And I don’t like your answer.”
“Too bad.” He backs off, but waits until I’m securely fastened into the seat before looking away from my hands and the buckle. When he does, his gaze lingers on my lips. “You’re bleeding.”
Before I can stop him, he wipes the blood away with his thumb.
“Lick your lips,” he says quietly.
I do, but instantly regret it because his eyes glaze over. “I have Chapstick at home,” I blurt out, then realize how stupid that sounds. “It’ll stop. Don’t worry about it.”
He reaches out and presses his thumb into my lip. I don’t miss the way his breaths go shallow when he slides his thumb through the moisture left behind from my tongue.
I grab his wrist and push his hand away. “Stop it, James. I’m serious.”
It takes a second, but his eyes clear and he blinks at me like he has no idea why there’s blood on his thumb and why he’s kneeling on the floor of his cramped truck. He clears his throat, wipes his hands on his jeans, and returns the wheelchair.
We stop by the mall on our way home where he hops out to grab us slices of pizza and triple scoops of ice cream in waffle bowls. I wait in the truck listening to his crackling radio sputter out a bunch of songs Sam would probably love.
Calling him had been a selfish mistake. If he’s not waiting in front of my house when we get there, I’ll be shocked. He’ll take one look at all the bruises and the burn on my hip and get into a massive fight with James over who can protect me better. Then Detective Lilly will show up and throw them both into jail for fighting.
“The cheese pizza they had out looked kind of old, so I made them give me a slice of the one that just came out of the oven,” James says when he slides into the truck. “Fork and knife are in the bag. Oh, and Triple Scoop was out of your chocolate mint chip, so I got you strawberry. Is that okay? I’ll eat it and get you something else if not.”
I blink at him. I think I mentioned wanting to try strawberry once, in passing, at least six months ago. “No, that’s perfect. Thank you.”
He grins. “You’re welcome.”
After we inhale our food, we drive around town for a bit. James keeps the flow of conversation steady and light. Somehow, he’s managed to move past Detective Lilly’s accusations and how horrible I look. It’s like he doesn’t see the bruises and cuts.
As much as I miss Sam, James is turning out to be exactly who I need. He’s not giving me a chance to wallow, or drown in flashbacks or depression. It’s like old times again.
Nobody understands me better than my brother—they can’t, not without having lived the life we have. This is exactly why I love him and why, no matter how much I love Sam, I’m not sure I want to completely abandon my brother. Or whether I can.