Rem

Beer didn’t taste good unless Cassi took a swig first, scrunched her nose, and demanded an IPA.

Great women loved their shitty beer.

I hadn’t been blackout drunk in four years. Figured now was the time to give it a go. Christen one bad decision with a worse one.

I’d rather be drunk and alone than sober and ruining the lives of the people I loved.

I hated the cabin now. Too quiet. Too dark. Too many rooms and too many little memories. Cassi’s ponytail holder in the bathroom. Mellie’s forgotten shoe in a closet. Tabby’s unnoticed milk dribbe on the back of the couch.

Didn’t need to find traces of them in my house. I couldn’t get them out of my head. My body was on Tabby’s schedule—breakfast, play, lunch, nap, dinner, bath time, bed time, and then peace. Mellie’s stupid clean-up song played on loop in my brain, clawing through useful thoughts like where to measure the cut and how to fit the joist.

And Cassi…

I hurt everywhere. Head. Heart. Body.

Five years ago, I learned the past could hurt. Humiliation hurt. Resentment hurt. Regret hurt.

Now?

The future would be just as painful.

So I hid in the workshop—from myself, from her memory, from everything and anything—and I found absolutely no relief. No hiding from this shame. All I could do was work it away. Finish my project. Head back to the logging camp. Grow the beard out again. And just…

Stay far away.

Running could solve any problem. The further I ran, the easier it’d be to start over. To forget what I gave up. To ignore who I’d hurt.

For the first time, it seemed like a shit idea.

Three beer bottles lined up at my feet, and I cautiously sketched a measurement on the section of timber. Something this important had to be measured precisely, and not just because it was the only thing in my world that mattered anymore, but because of who would use it. Each piece needed to be exact, every line, every angle, every potential side she could touch.

The timber lined with the saw blade, but my phone rang before I could make the cut.

Wouldn’t have been the first time I considered tossing my phone onto the band saw.

Emma’s name blazed on the screen. If it were anyone else, I’d have let it go. Something honorable must have remained in me.

I answered with a grunt. “Hey.”

Emma practically vibrated with energy, blitzing through the phone and jabbering with a manic enthusiasm.

Should I have been worried?

Or maybe that’s how Emma sounded when she was happy and healthy?

“So you aren’t coming over for dinner?” Emma asked.

It was easier that way. “No.”

“The kids miss you.”

“They’ll be fine.”

“I’m making you a plate.”

In the background, Tabby began to fuss. Her high-pitched, pay-attention-I’m-not-dying-but-goddamn-it-someone-better-take-care-of-this-shit cry.

Emma sighed. “This baby. She’s awfully opinionated.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing. She’s probably hungry. Not wet. Not too hot. Not starving. Just being a little prima donna, huh, Tabs?” Emma turned sly. “She says she wants her Uncle Rem to come over for dinner.”

I ignored that. “She’s saying that her socks are crooked.”

“What?”

“She doesn’t like it if her socks turn around. Fix her socks, she’ll stop fussing.”

“That’s crazy.”

“She’s your kid.”

“Why don’t you come over and eat?”

I stood, stepping over the rest of the timber. The project’s frame now waited for the final few pieces. I needed another beer before I could look at it again.

“I’m not in a family dinner mood,” I said.

“You used to love them.”

“Yeah. When I ate at the Paynes.”

“So why can’t the Marshalls start their own tradition?”

That’d be easy. “What are you making?”

“Brinner.”

There was all the evidence I needed. “Brinner?”

“Yeah. Pancakes. Bacon. Sunny side up eggs.”

Mellie would never sit at that table. “You gotta scramble them.”

“So you will come over?”

“No, but you gotta scramble the eggs.”

“Why?”

“Because Mellie doesn’t like her food looking at her. Sunny side up to her is like the Eye of Sauron to the fucking hobbits. She won’t go near it.”

Emma’s tone shifted. “Anything else I should know about my children?”

Plenty, and nothing that I could list off. Wasn’t like I had a running tally of the foods they loved—strawberries, pineapple, and chicken nuggets. Or the foods they hated—spinach, spaghetti with any white sauce, and beef that wasn’t ground up. Or the stories they liked before bed—Elmo fine, Doctor Seuss’s Marvin K Mooney Will You Please Go Home had been torn up in a bout of rage.

Bath time required bubbles and no less than two toys.

Play time demanded access to both crayons and a bouncy ball.

Mellie fell asleep immediately in the car. Tabby needed to be cuddled late at night on the couch before bed.

I’d learned so much. Personality quirks. Likes, dislikes, things that scared them, things that made them giggle.

And those girls loved to giggle.

I changed the subject.

“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “But I’m in the middle of something.”

“Oh. Is your girlfriend there?”

“Cassi?”

“Yeah.”

I paused. “No.”

Emma’s annoyed sigh was practically prophetic. “What the hell did you do this time?”

The phone was getting annoying. There was a reason I hardly used it. My fingers ached while I clutched the damn thing. “I didn’t do anything.”

And that was the biggest problem.

“You already lost her once, jackass. Did you break up with her again?”

“It’s complicated.”

Emma hooted. “Bullshit. You’re a goddamned coward.”

I gritted my teeth, but I wasn’t about to cuss out my sister when she was only a couple months out of rehab. Supposed to be supportive and compassionate and not hope that she’d choke on her phone.

“She’s dealing with shit with her family,” I said. “Marius got hurt overseas.”

“Oh, no. He was so cute.”

“Hopefully, you’ll find him cute with one less leg.”

“…Probably.”

“Cassi is helping her family now. Went home. We broke it off.”

“Oh. Did you lose a leg?”

I frowned. “No.”

“So, you still got two functional ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why don’t you march your skinny ass down to the farm and help her too. She’ll need it.”

“Oh, Christ, Em—”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, Remington. You know goddamned well what you’re doing, and I’m sick to death of it. At least my vice came in a little baggie. Yours is stuck between those lopsided ears.”

“I did what I thought was right.”

“You let her get away.”

“I let her go.”

“Oh, you are so freaking magnanimous.”

Now my temper flared. The Marshalls had a family rule. Someone else starts it, you finish it. Probably why the rest of the town hated us.

“Look, you know she’s better than me,” I said.

“Says who?”

“Says everyone.”

Emma snorted. “And why would they say that?”

“Because we’re trash, Emma. For Christ’s sake.”

A steely silence. I regretted the words.

“Are you calling my little girls trash?”

I practically heaved. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Then you better take those words back right fucking now.”

“Em, you know as well as I do that those girls are better than us. They deserve more than what we had. So does Cassi.”

“And you think you can’t give that life to these kids or to Cassi without sitting up all alone on your mountain?” The realization hit her pretty quick. “Fuck, you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. So instead of telling that girl you love her, you’re going to run far away, never speak to us again, and pretend none of this exists.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You’re such a selfish asshole.”

Goddamn it. I flung the beer bottle at the wall. The glass shattered. I reached for a new beer, but my fingers grazed a jagged piece near my chair. Blood blossomed over my hand. I swore. A handkerchief caught most of the blood. The cut wasn’t bad, but it should’ve been worse, just to punish me.

Emma sighed. “Is this about that ridiculous fire?”

“Yes.”

“You told me what happened back then, but I don’t know if it’s worth believing.”

“Why would I lie?”

“Because you never tell the truth, not when a lie means you could bask in your own worthlessness for a while longer.”

“I’m not doing this for me. I’ve never done anything for myself.”

“Except deliberately hurt yourself.” Emma snorted. “At least I used a drug, Rem. I never used other people.”

“I’m protecting everyone else—especially the Paynes.”

“Why?”

“Because they gave me a roof, food, and work when I needed it. And I don’t want to see anything destroy that family. I left before the truth came out.”

Emma’s voice softened. “What about our family?”

“We didn’t have a family.”

“Yeah…” She hesitated before swearing once more. “But you had me.”

“What?”

“You know, I could have used my brother these last couple years. It’s been kinda rough, Rem.”

“You didn’t need me. Christ, I’m the one who made you this way. Rehab did more for you than I ever did.”

“But I needed you there. I needed you to tell me to get help.”

Shit.

I wobbled on my feet. Four beers in an hour with nothing on my stomach except shame. I gripped the timber frame and steadied myself.

“Em, I’m…”

“Don’t bother.” Her words slapped like a hand to my cheek. “Doesn’t matter now. I wouldn’t even know if you’re being sincere or not. You’d blame yourself for everyone else’s sins again.”

“I’m trying to do what’s right.” Even I didn’t believe it. “I’m…trying to be a good man.”

Emma’s voice layered thick with disappointment and resignation. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You want to be alone, fine. You want to pretend this is the only way. So be it. I’m glad you’re leaving. Glad you’re gonna get away from my kids.”

“Emma—”

“I’d hate to have them grow up and see their uncle for who he really is.” She grunted. “Or worse—get hurt by him.”

“I would never—“

“You already are. Don’t you see? Being alone doesn’t make you a good man.” Her words fell to a whisper. “Go live in your lies. No one will miss a selfish bastard if he’s living alone.”

She ended the call.

I didn’t blame her.

My hand ached. I checked the handkerchief. Bloody, but not dangerous. Needed to be wrapped though. I pushed off the timber to head back to the house.

Stopped.

A streak of blood stained my newest project.

And the sight sickened me.

The crib was meant to be something transitional for Tabby. When she got bigger, I’d take it apart and turn it into a “big-girl” bed that she’d love. Something beautiful and perfect and the only thing that I ever thought I could offer such a sweet little girl.

Not a hug. Not a cuddle. Not a song when her tummy ached or a quick tidal wave in the tub.

I wasn’t the guy who’d ever be good enough to kiss a boo-boo, hold her hand at the bus stop, or chase away the first boys who’d start hanging around her or Mellie.

But I could do this.

I could make them something they needed. Something they could use. Something sturdy and strong that would last them forever.

It wasn’t enough.

I ignored my bleeding hand and collapsed to the floor, my back to the crib.

A lie was a lie.

Alone was alone.

And nothing I did would ever change what had been done.

I’d punished myself for those past deeds, and I’d tried to protect everyone else by closing off.

It worked. Too well.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

But I didn’t want to be so goddamned alone.