FOUR
“What kind of phone is it?”
“Pardon?” I glance up from checking Briar’s lap belt for the hundredth time and meet Evan’s eyes in the rear-view. He’s got us both in the back of his patrol car like common criminals. Guess I kind of feel like one, given how neglectful I am of my own flesh and blood.
I’m taking the nephew I’ve never met back to my sister’s house. The sister I couldn’t bring myself to see, even when she’s laid out in critical condition.
My hand drifts to my chest to check I actually have a heart. Yep, still beating.
“Your phone,” Evan clarifies. “It was dead? If it’s an iPhone, I have a charger in the glove compartment.”
“You do?” Is there anything he doesn’t have an answer for? Oh yeah, that’s right—sixteen-year-old me.
He nods in answer to my question, a small frown visible in the mirror. “Yeah. It got left behind after I picked up a drunk and disorderly a few weeks back. Found it under the seat when I cleared the car that night and just threw it in there.”
“That would be great. I really need to leave my parents a message.” My words fade as I settle my gaze on the boy who’s currently staring right back at me. “But I can do it when we get back to Kath’s place.”
Briar doesn’t need to hear the details. He might not know how bad she is, but kids are damn perceptive—he’ll know enough.
“Pass it over and I’ll charge it anyway.”
We set off minutes later to an address different to the last one I knew, the blue light on the USB adapter mesmerising me as we travel. I should say something to Briar, make small talk, but what the hell do I ask a six-year-old when I don’t even have the foggiest what they watch on TV these days? Does Kath even let him watch TV, or is she one of these new-age parents who’s so tuned in to their kid’s learning that they have nightly sessions with flash cards to teach him a second language?
I’m so out of my depth.
“So,” Evan pipes up, breaking our awkward silence. “What’s your favourite thing for dinner, Briar?”
Damn it. He needs feeding. Why didn’t I think of that?
“Macaroni cheese,” Briar answers, his back straightening as he perks up beside me.
I look over and smile, my fingers worrying the thread on my jeans once more. “Think you could help me out when we get to your place, and show me where things are in your kitchen?”
He turns his smiling face up to mine, and the quirk of his lips quickly fades. “Yeah.”
He’s worried about me. He doesn’t trust me. Damn it. I need Mum here. Mum always knows what to do.
Evan turns into a narrow street, identical duplexes lining either side, and ducks his head to peer out the windshield as we cruise. Kids in the street stop their game of kickball and eye the cop car suspiciously as we come to a stop outside a tidy, well-presented property.
“Home sweet home, buddy.”
I stay in place, swallowing back my anxieties as Evan exits the car and opens our locked doors in turn. With a spin of his wrist and a lazy smile he, coaxes me out.
“M’lady.”
Funny guy, huh? Briar hops up the path to the door and waits as we lag behind. Evan hands me my newly charged phone, and then inspects the ring of keys in his hand, frowning down at our dozen choices.
“It’s this one.” Briar’s finger creeps over the side of Evan’s large palm and he points out a key with an orange rubber holder.
“Thanks, buddy.”
The thud, thud, thud of the kids’ ball behind us punctuates the silence as I wait on the door to be opened, a thousand questions running through my mind. Never in a million years did I think I’d be here now, standing on my estranged sister’s doorstep, with the nephew I never knew I had, doing my utmost to ignore Evan’s enticing scent as he stands beside me.
I held out hope for the first few months after he left that perhaps he had trouble getting in touch. Maybe he’d forgotten my parents’ number and had to hunt it down? But as the months passed, and the one -year mark loomed, I knew.
He’d cut me off on purpose. This boy who promised to love me forever found it in himself to sever ties and never look back.
Nine years—how many of those back in the same town—and not once did he think to look me up.
Yeah, it burns.
Evan pushes the black-painted door wide and enters first, his head swivelling as he checks in each doorway. Habit, I’m guessing. I usher Briar in before me, sucking in a deep breath to centre myself, and close the door behind us.
“Mac ’n’ cheese, coming right up,” I say a little too brightly as I shrug off my coat.
As much as I try not to be inconspicuous, I can’t fight the urge to check everything out as well, do what I can to read into the woman my sister is now. The duplex is sparsely yet tastefully furnished at first glance. White walls give focus to stunning black-and-white framed prints. A black lacquered table sits centrepiece in the dining room, two plush grey upholstered chairs tucked close to one another on the far side. A basic low cabinet, finished in a rustic white farmhouse style, fills the wall that divides the dining room/entrance from the kitchen behind.
Which is where I find Evan after Briar races up the stairs, presumably to his room. So much for the help.
My mysterious cop is perusing the fridge, while I’m perusing his muscular inked arms. Definitely didn’t have those tattoos before. What else has changed? What other things that I can’t see?
“Don’t you have someone to go home to?” I wince the minute the words leave my mouth, realising just how harsh they sound spoken aloud. “That came out sounding wrong. I’m sorry.”
He regards me over his shoulder, a block of cheese in his hand. “No offence taken.”
“I can handle it from here. Really.”
“Do you want to, though?” His eyes hold no ounce of venom, just the pure, honest truth of it all.
He knows me better than I give him credit for. He always could read through my bullshit, and he sees it: I’m not ready for this. I’m not one ounce the mothering type. I can’t even stomach the idea of a pet relying on me, let alone a small human being.
I was built to wander through life alone, and in solitude is where I thrive.
“Anyway,” he continues, clearly sensing the tension in the air, “I thought I could help out by getting dinner started while you sorted talking to your parents.” He checks his robust watch. “It’s after six already, and that little guy up there probably needs to be in bed before eight at the latest if you want to avoid having a fight on your hands.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Of course he knows how this all works; he has a son. Hell. He has a son. “Will your family be wondering where you are, though?”
He shakes his head, retrieving milk and butter to go with the cheese. “It’s not my weekend to have Deacon.”
Shared custody, as in separated. Interesting. That shouldn’t make me happy, but it does. Not that it should matter—no second chances, right?
Evan continues gathering ingredients from the pantry, and then starts opening cupboard after cupboard until he finds a pot and a pan to use on the gas cooker. I lay my coat on the island bench and retrieve my phone from the pocket.
“You’re probably wondering what sort of cold-hearted monster I am now, right?” I thumb through the contacts list, purposefully avoiding his gaze. “You know, since I haven’t cried over Kath or anything.”
His legs turn in my periphery, his stance indicating he’s standing with his hip against the counter.
“I might have left you behind, Amelia,” he says, “but you were never far from my mind. I heard through the grapevine what happened.”
I look up to find him with his arms folded, sincerity etched in his features. Yet all I want to do is run at him, fists pounding his ridiculously deep chest. He knew? And still he kept radio silence? If he truly cared about me, if the things he would have been told stirred anything in him, I wasn’t that hard to find. I stayed. Even after the shit hit the fan, I stayed.
“I’m not judging you, Amelia,” he says softly. “Everyone deals with trauma differently.”
I blink in surprise at his blind ignorance to how much those words just hurt me. Did he ever love me like he said? Or was it all a ruse? Am I really that bad at judging a person’s character? History would suggest yes, yes I am.
I sigh as I look back to my phone. “I never understood why you left.”
“Would it make any difference if I told you?” He fidgets, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. Good. “What’s done is done.”
“Yeah. Question is, would you change it if you could?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?” he scoffs.
I glance up, frowning. “You never called, never wrote. You just … vanished. Your whole family, gone overnight. If it wasn’t for the vague comments people around town made about how your father should have ‘left her sooner,’ I would have wondered if you’d all been murdered or something.” I shake my head. “Where did you go?”
“The town was right: Mum and Dad separated. You knew they had issues. You saw the fights they’d have.”
“But how does that explain what happened to you?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air.
He swallows hard, staring across the room to avoid looking at me. “I got home after the last night I saw you and found Dad trying to patch himself up in the bathroom.” He glances to the floor and shrugs. “Mum was drunk again, and she’d smashed up a whole heap of plates; they’d started to argue while she was doing the dishes. Dad said something she didn’t like and she picked up a piece of ceramic and lashed out at him—cut a huge gash in his arm.”
Jesus. I’d seen his parents go hammer and tongs, lashing insults in turn as though they were whips to be cracked in competition with one another, but physical violence? “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
He shrugs. “I never told you how bad it was because Dad was embarrassed. Mum used to beat him when she’d been drinking, a lot. He’d had enough. He had called his cousin up North a few days before and was planning on moving out, just not that quickly.”
“And when he did, you went too?” It kind of makes sense now, at least, why he left.
Evan nods, shame in his eyes.
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Dad gave me an ultimatum: go with him right there and then, or stay with her.”
“And you chose him.”
“Yeah.”
I sigh, palming my phone. “You could have called after, though. Written a damn letter.”
“It’s not all there was to it, Amelia.” He sighs, glancing at the wall behind me as though seeing the staircase on the other side. “Tonight isn’t the time for us to hash this out anyway, is it?” He jerks his chin to gesture to Briar upstairs.
Of course. But when is the right time? His admission that he knows what happened after he left and yet chose not get in touch, even after what should have been shocking news, makes me think he’d rather avoid the subject of “us” altogether.
“If we hadn’t crossed paths tonight,” I ask, “would you have looked me up? Tried to reconnect?”
Silence hangs heavy between us as his Adam’s apple bobs. “I don’t know. I guess … I guess I assumed you’d be happy, settled. That it didn’t matter anymore.”
Lips set in a firm line, I nod, preparing to leave the room while I wrap my head around it. All these years and I refused to believe it was as simple as the sheer fact he didn’t love me like I loved him. But the more he reveals, the more I find out, the more that seems the only viable answer. He says it was more complex, but really what else is there to it? He chose to leave, I understand why, but he also chose to stay away from me—then and now.
Was I that difficult to love?
“I better make this call,” I mutter, half-heartedly lifting my phone.
Evan pushes off the counter and closes the space between us in two urgent strides, taking me by surprise. I tip my head back to see his face as he speaks, the familiar angles causing my chest to tighten.
“It sucked.” He looks me dead in the eye before averting his gaze with a frown. “What they did to you, Mimi. It wasn’t fair.”
“Nobody’s ever said that to me,” I murmur.
I was the talk of the town for a solid six months, and yet not until seven years later in my sister’s kitchen do I hear for the first time that somebody actually felt bad for me. That somebody cared.
Ironically, the only person I ever wanted to care.
“Well….” Evan sighs, swallowing hard. His exhale tickles my face, his mouth so close to mine. “I thought you needed to know.” He steps back, hands awkwardly placed on his thighs as though he’s struggling not to do something else with them.
“Thank you.” I hold his gaze, fighting the familiar urge to walk into his embrace, to seek comfort and solace from him.
He’s not mine anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. Those privileges were revoked the day I realised he wasn’t coming home.
“I’ll get dinner started and you go check up on Briar. Make sure he’s okay first, and then ring your parents.” He turns away, dismissing me with his authoritarian tone and effectively ending our conversation.
Phone clutched in my fist, I take a measured step sideways, and hesitate. “Thank you for all of this … helping. It’s really appreciated.”
“I wouldn’t do it for just anyone, Amelia.”
One look at his face confirms he feels as equally out of place as I do, so I turn and hotfoot it towards the stairs before the situation becomes any more uncomfortable.
The wall leading to the first floor is covered with pictures: Kath and Briar, what I assume to be Briar as a baby, Kath and my parents, and random nature shots thrown in the mix. My gaze roves each one as I slowly climb up to the next level, and two things hit me. One, I forgot to check what picture Kath had of me on the fridge when I was downstairs. Two, nowhere in any of these pictures have I found a single one containing Briar’s father. Interesting.
I reach the landing, and on the second turn find Briar’s door. He sits amidst a plethora of Marvel action toys, setting up some scenario between Hulk and Captain America. Certain he’ll be content for the time being, I head back to the first door I checked and enter Kath’s room.
I had all intentions of sitting on the end of her bed and calling Mum, but now that I’m inside Kath’s space, looking at the things that make up who she is, a deep sense of trespass overwhelms me.
I don’t belong here. She wouldn’t have invited me when she was conscious, so who the hell am I to act like I’m at home, here, in her room?
Shaking the slimy feeling off, I bring my phone out and tap through to Mum’s number. It rings out. I disconnect, assuming they’re still in the air, and open the message window instead.
Kath is stable for now. I have Briar at her house.
Short and to the point. Satisfied with my half-arsed effort, I pocket the phone and head back to Briar’s room. He’s laid out on his stomach, still playing with the same toys.
“Who’s making dinner?” he asks as I settle on the floor with him.
“The police officer is.”
His focus returns to the toys. What I’d give to be six again and not find things like a cop in your kitchen, and an aunt you’ve never met caring for you, strange or unsettling.
“Which one’s your favourite?” I’ve seen a few of the franchise movies; I’m reasonably confident I can wing it.
“Captain America.”
“Cool.”
He looks up at me, cocking his head to the side. “What about you?”
“I think Iron Man is pretty awesome.” Mostly because I have a thing for Robert Downey Jr., but hey, it’s still a legitimate answer.
He nods. “Are you married?”
I shake my head, smiling at the genuinely curious furrow to his brow.
“Mum said you don’t have any children.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You get scared at night on your own?”
Odd question. “Sometimes. If there’s a really loud noise, or I have a bad dream.” I tuck my legs in tighter to myself, gripping my ankles with both hands.
“I have bad dreams,” Briar states, almost as though he’s proud to have made it through the ordeal. “But Mum comes and cuddles me until I go back to sleep.”
“That sounds nice.” It also leaves a stabby feeling in my chest I can’t quite place as empathy or jealousy.
I’ve never thought about having kids; it’s never been an option afforded to me. But I guess a family of my own is something that deep down I hope to have one day. I just can’t say when or how it would ever happen. And realising that makes me a little sad. Damn it, kid. One conversation and I’m contemplating life’s course.
This boy’s going to ruin me—I know it.
“So, Briar. Tell me what you do when it’s bedtime.” Knowing Kath’s shared love for structure and order, they’ve probably got a routine set down to the smallest detail.
“Um….” He looks around his room as though searching for a clue. “I brush my teeth. And then I have a bath, put on my pyjamas, and then Mum reads a book to me.”
“Sounds like a good plan, buddy.” How the hell do I bath him at this age? Does he wash himself? Do I need to supervise him, or can he be left to play with the bath toys? Is he going to rat me out if I clean his back for him and get me locked up as a perv? How far is too far?
So out of my depth.
“You’ll have to help me out, okay?” I ask … or damn near beg. “Make sure I don’t forget anything.”
“Okay.” The wee trooper takes on his task with a firm nod, probably proud to have the responsibility of being a “big boy” for a night.
And then he slays me with his next breath.
“Is Mum coming home?”
The tears well in his eyes, and damn it all if I don’t feel them mirrored in mine. The relationship with Kath might be non-existent; too much history to simply patch over the potholes in the road, but this kid? Damn it, he’s innocent in all of this.
“She might need to stay a few nights to get better, but she’ll be home,” I reassure him as much as myself.
He smiles weakly, nodding again as he focuses on the toy shield in his hand, moving it between the set positions on Captain America’s hand and back. “I miss Mummy.”
“I know you do,” I offer softly.
His little shoulders heave as his chest shudders, and I reach out, hesitating a few inches short of actually touching him. I want nothing more than to make him feel better, to say the magic words that’ll apply a salve to his pain, but I also know that a heart as cold and detached as mine only creates more friction when offered to others.
I don’t know how to connect properly, to soothe and reassure.
Fighting my basic instinct to recoil and protect myself from awkward situations, I connect—my hand rests on his shoulder as the first tears trickle over his rounded cheeks. He looks up at me, those dark eyes that are so much him, so full of hope and desperation, that for the first time in almost ten years I do the one thing that scares me most: I open myself up to another—if only a child—and do what I can to be enough.
“Come here.”
He crawls over and situates himself on my lap, his legs folding under him to rest in the crook of my knees. I wrap an arm around his small body and hold him close, not saying a word, but merely being the one thing I wished I’d had when my world fell apart: a warm body to connect with, a human soul that made me feel as though I wasn’t alone in this personal hell.
Companionship.
Everybody needs an ally, most of all those who are unable to fight for a different outcome from what fate has in store.
Briar curls tighter, his hands fisted and buried against my stomach as he quietly sobs. I arch over him, resting my chin gently atop his head, and before I even realise what I’m doing, my hand tracks paths up and down his arm, soothing, comforting in the same way I remember my mother would when Kath and I were little.
By the time Evan appears at the door to let us know dinner is ready, I’m crying, Briar cries, and the two of us are so tightly entwined I don’t even know if I want to let go just yet.
I lift my head, wiping away the stray tears with the side of my hand, and look at this man who’s seen a friend out of her depth and helped without having to be asked. Why couldn’t I have this version of him seven years ago when I needed him the most?
Regardless, what did I do to deserve such selfless compassion now? How could a heart as cold as mine be gifted this after how I’ve behaved?
“Food’s on the table,” Evan says quietly, stepping into the room. “You two want to help each other get cleaned up and come downstairs?”
“Sure.” I make a move to disengage from Briar, yet he refuses to let go. “Come on, buddy. We need to wash our hands and faces before we eat.”
He lets loose one more shuddering breath, and then unfurls his short legs from inside mine. His red, puffy eyes almost undo me all over again, but not so much for the remorse that Kath is in hospital and he’s this upset about it, but for the fact I don’t have it in me to feel the same way.
I didn’t cry because my sister almost died. I didn’t cry because his mother isn’t here to console him when he’s upset. I cried because seeing Briar so cut up only reopened wounds I’ve tried so damn hard to cover up. His distress dragged memories I’ve done everything I can to bury, back into the light.
And I can’t stomach what I see.
A girl who was let down by not only her family, but also by the boy she loved without compare. A woman forged in fire. A heart so broken it doesn’t know if there’s any trust left to give, even to those who deserve it.
Briar scoots down the hall to the bathroom, and I step out to check on him, somewhat relieved when I see him standing atop his step stool, diligently washing his hands.
“You okay?” Evan rests his hand on the back of my shoulder, the contact setting my flesh on fire as I read the concern in his eyes.
“I will be.” I always am. I break, I mend, and then I ride out the storm until I break all over again.
The circle of life.
“Seeing him so upset … I feel useless.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way.”
We both watch in silence as Briar dries his hands off and returns to where we’re congregated at the top of the stairs.
“Ready to eat, champ?” Evan sticks his arm out toward him.
Briar nods, and takes the offered hand. The two of them start toward the stairs, and I lag behind, using the moment to steel myself. I’ve already snapped, and I haven’t even reached the hardest part yet: when Mum and Dad arrive.
Eyes glazed, hand to my throat, it takes me a moment to realise that the other two have stopped in their descent. I bring my focus back to the house and look down to find a small smile on Evan’s lips as Briar, twisted back to face me with his hand still in Evan’s, reaches out with his other for me.
“Are you coming, Aunty?”
“Of course.”
I may have lost the family I wanted, but in this time of crisis, I might have found a connection to the one I need.