Meet the Family

God sat around the corner from the little two-bedroom single-family home, making sure no one was there. With help from an old flame, he was able to put the mortgage in an alias so that neither his mother nor his little brother knew that it was him that had moved them there. They thought it was their deceased father’s friends from the force that helped them and made sure they were cared for. God not only ensured they had everything they needed, but that they also had just about everything they wanted.

With God paying his mother’s mortgage and utilities, his salary didn’t leave him much for himself. He didn’t have extravagant needs anyway… all he had were his PlayStation 3, his sixty-five-inch smart television, and… his truck. His little one-bedroom apartment was a piece of shit in an even shittier neighborhood. But someone fucking with him was the least of God’s concerns.

He pulled the throwaway cell phone from underneath his driver's seat and re-read the text.

Mr. Eudall, I know you said to text this number if we had any problems, so I am, because my mom and I tried to fix the kitchen sink and couldn’t. The plumber we called wants $500 to do it and Mom don’t got it right now, since she’s saving for a computer for me. Can you help please?

God had mailed a letter to his mom when they were settled into their new home. He had to move them to Atlanta, Georgia where he could watch them better. He gave them the fake name Mr. Eudall and left this number for them to text if there was a problem. All they knew was things got fixed when they requested it—always when they weren’t there. The bills got paid on time, and groceries were delivered every month. His mom had a little volunteer job at the retirement home since she was disabled. His father had seen to it that she’d never again be able to walk or stand for long periods of time. God shuddered at the memory of that accident… that’s when he’d made a deal with the devil that cost him his home.

God desperately wished he could hear his mother’s voice again, taste her cooking, feel her warmth from an embrace, or throw the pigskin with his kid brother. He was in high school now. He probably had questions about girls and shit that God would never be able to answer. He wouldn’t be able to have a beer with him when he turned twenty-one.

Although they probably wouldn’t recognize his voice if he answered the phone as Mr. Eudall, he didn’t want to risk it. He explained in the letter that he—Mr. Eudall—lived in another state, but would always be available. God sighed inwardly, his chest constricting painfully with each thought. He wanted to tell his mom he was the one doing all those things. Heaven knew he missed them like crazy, but many years ago he’d had to protect them at all costs… and unfortunately it had cost him their love. There was no way they could ever know it was him… that he was Mr. Eudall, the made-up friend of their father.

When he got out of the military, he’d made the mistake of turning up at the tiny apartment in Clayhatchee where he’d once lived with his mom and brother, hoping that bygones were bygones. To say it didn’t go well would be the understatement of the century. His mom had cursed and yelled for him to never come there again… that he was dead to her. His brother, only eleven at the time, threw things at him. He ran from there as fast as he could and never went back. That was six years ago. Now he could only love them from afar, and it made him sick to know that his love would never be returned.

God shook his head and pushed down those thoughts. Mr. Eudall had a job to do. After watching the place for twenty minutes, he was sure that his brother Genesis had stayed for football practice and his mom was doing her volunteer shift. God left his truck parked on the dark corner. He pulled his toolbox from the back and trotted the couple blocks to the house.

He went around back and got the key from under the third stone along the path to the door and let himself in. Stepping into the dark kitchen, his throat immediately formed a large lump in it that had him bracing a hand on the counter trying to catch his breath. It was the smell of what had been recently baked and still lingered deliciously in the air of the tidy room. He’d never be able to forget that smell for as long as he lived. His mother’s made-from-scratch cinnamon-raisin bread that she used to make for him when he felt bad. God wondered if she did that for his brother, Genesis.

He turned his flashlight toward the stove and saw the small loaf wrapped in plastic wrap, a few pieces already eaten. He was sure Genesis could probably eat the whole loaf, since he was obviously taking after God in height and weight. He walked to the stove and picked the plate up and put it under his nose.

Oh man, what I’d do for one slice.

God carefully set the plate back down. He wouldn’t dare do that. No handyman would come in and make himself at home with a plate of fresh-baked bread and a large glass of sweet tea.

He turned on the small light above the sink and placed his toolbox by his feet. He had a job to do and then he’d hightail it out of there before either of them got home. He’d gotten pretty good at knowing their schedules. He figured the sink repair would only take an hour, that was plenty of time to get packed up and out of there before they came home… which was always together. Genesis would pick his mom up on his way home from practice and they’d come in about seven thirty. He’d watched them follow that pattern every Thursday for many months.

It was rare he had to make an appearance in their home since he usually sent someone to make repairs. However, to have a plumber replace the drain and garbage disposal was more than he could afford right then. He’d just paid their mortgage, his rent, and his truck payment, but he’d be damned if he let his mom go another two weeks with a broken sink.

God pulled out his flashlight and wrench, and began to make quick work of the sink. He had to refer to a how-to YouTube video once, but he’d been able to get it done in the time he’d allotted. He closed up his large red toolbox, took his small hand towel out of his pocket, and began to shine up the sink. He bent down to pick up his toolbox when he heard the front door open and his brother’s deep voice reach his ears.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” God whispered while anxiously looking at the back door, gauging whether he could run past the kitchen opening without being seen… highly doubtful. He looked at his watch. It was only five-thirty.

Why the hell are they home now?

“Mom, are you sure you’re okay? You look exhausted.”

“Just need a little rest, son. Thanks for picking me up early.”

“No problem, go on up and rest. I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”

God was deathly still and probably pale as a ghost knowing he was about to come face-to-face with his brother. He wished it would be a nice reunion, but he wasn’t a fool. He watched Genesis drop his book bag and football gear in the laundry room, turn around and jump five feet in the air at the sight of God’s hulking frame leaning against their kitchen sink.

Upon realization of who he was, a hard scowl formed on his face and his fist immediately balled up at his side. “What the hell are you doing in my house?” he barked.

God looked into green eyes that were so much like his own. His mother had given those intense eyes to both of them. His brother was at least six-foot-two already at the young age of seventeen. The black-and-white Muddleton High School muscle shirt he wore showed off his solid chest and well-formed biceps. He immediately found himself hoping he didn’t have to ward off an attack by his brother… because it wouldn’t be pretty. God just stood there silently staring at his brother, wanting to hug him so bad his arms burned.

“Did you break in here, asshole?”

God flinched at his brother’s language.

“Honey, who are you yelling at?” His mother’s voice reached him before she rounded the corner and gasped at the sight of him.

She still had on her pink-and-white-paisley print volunteer smock. Her hair had a few strands of gray that had detached from her tight bun and curled haphazardly around her worried face. Christ, he missed her so much. For a split second God forgot that he was persona non grata and took two steps toward his small mom before seeing Genesis jump protectively in front of her.

“Cashel,” she said barely above a whisper. “Is that you?”

She doesn’t sound angry… maybe she’s not anymore.

“Yeah, Mom. It’s me,” he replied, his heavy bass drawl filled with emotion and hope.

“She’s not your damn mother,” Genesis barked.

“What?” God gasped at the absurdity. “She’ll always be my mother.”

He watched his mother ease from behind her youngest son and limp toward him. God thought maybe she was going to embrace him and scold him for staying away so long, then offer him a huge slice of raisin bread. Maybe she’d hug him and tell him she understood why he’d done what he had all those years ago, and it was okay, he could come home now… she’d missed her big boy so much.

He hadn’t even finished the fantasy before his mother drew her hand back as far as she could and slapped him so hard across his face that his hair came loose from the elastic band and fanned across his now-stinging cheek.

Genesis was at her side in three large steps, pulling her protectively to him. God kept his head down and tucked his hair behind his ear, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

“How dare you come here? How did you find out where we were? You bastard!” she screamed. “You killed my husband. Get out! Get out now! Don’t you ever come back here, or I’ll call the police on you!” She hobbled away, but not before God saw the tears, the hurt, and the disgust all playing across her usually angelic face.

He watched her do her best to get away from him.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered after her slowly retreating form.

“I said she’s not your mother.” Genesis shoved him hard, causing him to stumble over his toolbox, still on the floor at his feet. His large frame hit the floor with a heavy thud, making him wince at the pain now radiating from his shoulder. God saw the pride in his brother’s face at feeling like he had the upper hand.

“If you ever break in here again, I’ll kill you.” His brother stood over him.

“Gen, can I please talk to you for just a minute?” God asked quietly while working his way to one knee.

“Fuck no. You killed my father because a gang leader told you to, and because of a technicality, you didn’t serve one day in prison.” Genesis’s eyes were filled with a hatred he’d only seen in the hardest of criminals.

“You don’t understand, Gen. If I could just talk to you.” God tried to recover. He saw Genesis pull back his fist but didn’t bother trying to dodge it. He let his brother hit him across the same stinging cheek his mom just had. His head hardly moved but he still rotated his jaw a little. “You got a pretty good punch, baby brother.”

“You asshole,” Genesis snarled. “Don’t call me that. I’m no brother of yours. Now get out of my fucking house and don’t ever come back if you value your life. Although maybe I’d be able to get off on a justifiable homicide defense too.” His brother came closer, his voice an ice-cold snarl. “Do you live in Atlanta now?”

“No, I still live in Alabama,” he lied.

“Good. I don’t think I could stomach living in the same city with you.”

Just when God couldn’t feel any worse, his brother spit in his face and turned his back on him to open the back door. God used the hem of his shirt to wipe the salvia off his face while picking up his toolbox and heading for the back door.

When he got to the threshold he paused, thinking he’d give it one more attempt, but his brother shoved him hard in the back and slammed the door with enough force to shake the house’s foundation.

God squeezed his eyes shut at the pain now radiating in his heart.

Jesus… was it worth it? Fuck yes, and if the piece of shit resurrected from hell, I’d send him back all over again.