During the day.
Wonder all the time what he’s doing.
And if he’s okay.
“You know, if I were you, I’d be really careful what you say to me,” the guy says in a deep tone, shifting closer and startling me from my thoughts. “Because I could go back and tell Conner I saw you here tonight.” His breath reeks like whiskey and his pungent body odor burns my nostrils. “He’d be really upset to know you’ve been out partying. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s been wanting to know what you’re been up to, considering he was in jail because of you. I know he’s been dying to find out what your life is like.”
I ball my hands into fists, battling the need to spit out a comeback. Without saying another word, I climb into my rustic red Jeep and drive off. I make my journey home trying not to think about the bills, about my job, school, my five-year-old son, Conner and the threat the guy made in the parking lot, but my problems are all I can think about.
How the hell did I get here?
I know the answer. See it every night when I look up at the stars.
It’s painful to retrace every step that led me to this place, steps that I took myself. But I don’t hate my life, just wish things could be easier. It could have been so much easier if I did everything the right way instead of backwards.
By the time I pull into my driveway, I’m bawling, nearing hysteria, worried that at any moment, Conner’s going to show up, a concern that’s haunted me for years. I don’t go inside right away. I give myself five minutes to cry my eyes out, alone, in the silence of my vehicle where no one can see me or my problems. Then, when my eyes have dried, I drag my ass out of the car, knowing as soon as I step foot into my house I’m no longer the priority anymore.
My home is fairly small, but quaint, with plain cream walls and a standard kitchen. I love it because it has a strong roof and walls. I only moved into it just under three months ago and called it the beginning of my new beginning. It was actually built by Habitat for Humanity and I’m going to help build a house starting Monday to repay them for building my home.
“Hey, you’re home early.” My brother Jax is sprawled across the living room sofa with a thick textbook propped up on his chest. He’s been living with me for over a year now ever since our mother disappeared. No one knows where she went or what happened to her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere.
I like having Jax here with me, not just for the company but because it means he’s no longer living in that shitty house with my cracked out mother and whatever man she’s hooking up with. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do when he starts moving on with his life, but I’ll figure it out—I always do. And I’m glad Jax is doing things the forward way in life, I just wish I didn’t have to rely on his help so much.
“Yeah, I got tired.” I drop the keys on the table then plop down in the recliner. “And I was worried about Mason’s fever.”
“You’re always tired.” Jax sets the book down on the coffee table as he sits up. “And I texted you like fifty times telling you Mason was okay.”
“Yeah, I know… I didn’t sleep very well last night. Must be nerves or something over building a house,” I lie because it’s not that—it was finals, and working more hours at the bar while managing to build a house at the same time. I’ve become a juggler again just like I was at sixteen, only it’s my own responsibilities this time instead of our mother’s.
“You know, I could help with that,” Jax offers with a yawn. “Either help with the house building thing or get a second job or ask for more hours to help pay bills.”
He’s such a sweet kid. You’d never think he came out of our mother. But Jax looks a little like me… Well, at least enough that some people can tell we’re related. He has a similar shade of brown hair and hazel eye color, which are traits of our mother. His nose is definitely more prominent than mine because we don’t have the same father, even though my mother was living with my father at the time she had Jax.
My mother goes through men like she goes through drugs, with casualness and zero regard for the consequences. It got her a total of who knows how many children. She was almost forty when she brought me into the world, and I know for a fact she had more children before me, but only because she rambled about it once when she was high. When I’d asked her where all her kids were, she’d muttered something about being with their fathers. When I’d asked her why my father didn’t take me with him, she’d told me it was because I was unwanted.
“I don’t want you having to work anymore hours unless it’s put toward college.” My head wobbles back against the recliner, so close to falling asleep.
“What if I don’t want to go to college? What if I decided I’d rather do something else?”
“You’re going. There is no other option.”
“Yes, mother,” he jokes but then we both pause because I’m pretty much like Jax’s mom and have been since I was four years-old when our mother gave birth to him.
He looks like he wants to say more, maybe about our mother, but then zips his lips, deciding against it. I often wonder if he thinks about her and why she’s missing. One of these days we’ll probably get a phone call from the police saying they found her dead. But we never really talk about it, avoiding the painful truth of why Jax is really here with me.
“You should go to bed,” I yawn. “Get some sleep before work tomorrow.”
He nods. “Oh, and just so you know, Mason likes peas now.”
With a lot of effort, I lift my head up. “Really? How’d you manage that?”
“I told him they’d help him get strong like all those super heroes he’s obsessed with.” He starts for the hall but then pauses, looking at me. “I’m kind of envious of him and his wild imagination. You’re doing good Avery. Way, way better than what we had.”
I crack a smile because it means a lot. “Thanks, Jax.”
He returns my smile. “You’re welcome.” Then he disappears into the hallway, and moments later, I hear his bedroom door shut.
It takes me at least fifteen minutes before I drag my ass off the couch and kiss Mason goodnight, then I go into my room. I peel off my filthy clothes, slip on a pair of pajamas, and flop down on the bed with my guitar. I thrum the strings quietly and not very well, but learning how to play became part of my new life—the one after my death and Conner.