Halfway Heroes

by Dustin Martin

The bedroom at Rooke Pharmaceuticals may not have had a spectacular view, nor did it contain all the amenities of the high-rise apartment that he’d been given, but Mark found it far more heavenly. Sure, he’d ended up working longer hours, since he basically lived at the office now. And when Rooke had hired a tutor to teach Mark in the company lounge, the boring atmosphere felt like he was back in school. Yet for a perfect night’s sleep and his father far, far away, it was a trade-off he was happy to make.

  However, after a few days of staying at the office, Rooke pulled him aside. “I have some good news. I got in touch with your mother.” He paused, drawing out Mark’s anticipation. “And she’s coming back into town tomorrow.”

  So Mark ended up returning to the apartment, eagerly looking forward to morning when his mother would arrive. Not even his Gene’s ever-sour attitude could spoil his joy.

  “Well, you’ve finally come down from on high to visit, huh?” Gene had greeted him. “Why don’t you clean up your room while you’re here? I’ve already been straightening up the rest of the place.” The living room appeared messy with garbage, and the stacks of used dishes on the dining table alone were close to toppling over. Mark shuddered at the thought of what the rest of the apartment looked like.

  “Fine,” he said.

  His father sat down on the sofa and turned on the television. “We move into a new place and I get the unpleasant parts piled onto me. Every time you do anything, I’m given more work.” He glanced over the top of the sofa. “Maybe you could put that money to good use and hire a maid. It would sure help instead of putting all this on me.”

  “Like you do anything anyway,” Mark said under his breath.

  Gene muted the television. “What was that?” Mark didn’t answer. He stood up from the sofa and walked over to Mark. “You got something to say? Say it.” Those piercing eyes silenced any further speech. “Don’t come in here thinking you’re above me asking you to do something. I’m still the parent, got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should be grateful I’m working hard to take care of you. Just because you were lucky enough to fall into a job for this Rooke guy doesn’t mean you’re above me. Now get.” Mark scurried up the stairs. “I should be the one getting paid,” Gene grumbled, turning around, “instead of my kid.”

  When he was finished cleaning as much of the apartment as he could, Mark went to bed. Sleep proved impossible. Mark spent the night anxiously pacing his room, busying himself with the mountain of homework his tutor had assigned, or watching television.

  Eventually, the sun clocked into work. When Mark caught the first rays of light on the horizon, he raced to the front door. He waited for over an hour, happy that his dad had slept in late. When his mother didn’t arrive at the crack of dawn like he’d hoped, Mark fixed himself some cereal. He constantly kept an eye on the door, afraid that she might walk in, think she had the wrong place, and leave.

  When Rooke arrived, ready to whisk Mark off to tutoring and work, he begged to wait a while longer. Rooke smiled at his pleading and stepped aside. Mark’s eyes bulged out of his head. There she was, standing in the doorway. Her business suit and slacks were wrinkled, her hair frazzled, and she looked like she’d been flying nonstop all night. The weight of work seemed to be making her stoop like an elderly woman. Yet there was no sight more beautiful to Mark than his mother, right then and there.

  “Hello, sweety!” she said, dropping her purse and work bag to the floor.

  Mark ran to her, throwing his arms around her neck. “Hey, Mom! How was your trip?”

  “Dull as usual,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “Nothing but dealing with boring problems. Are you okay? I was in a dead zone a lot of the time, so I only got the message recently. Did they hurt you?” She examined his face and arms.

  “No, I’m fine, Mom,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.” He ran to the kitchen and came back with a fork. He jammed it into his skin. She gasped, snatching the fork away. “Really, I’m fine.” He showed her his arm, allowing her to examine him. “Didn’t they tell you? I’m impervious! The house is more torn up than I am.”

  “Yes, Rooke mentioned that. I didn’t believe it when he told me.” She turned his arm over, checking for any marks.

  “I’m fine.”

  “If you say so.” She hugged him again. “I’m glad you’re alright. How’s your father doing?”

  “Fine,” Mark said. He jerked his thumb to the other bedroom. “He’s still asleep.”

  She stood up and turned to Rooke. “I don’t know how I can thank you for all you’ve done for us.” She wrapped an arm around Mark, holding him close to her side. “For keeping him safe from that horrid man and for giving us this apartment. We can never repay you for this.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Rooke said, smiling. He looked down at Mark. “You son is very special.”

  “That he is,” she said, nodding. “That he is.”

  “There she is.” Gene lumbered heavily from his room, yawning and scratching his head. “There’s my beautiful Connie.” He cut in between Mark and her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “How are you, hon?”

  “Tired,” she confessed, moaning. “My feet are killing me.” She pulled up a chair and plopped down into it. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes, breathing a sigh of relief. “Much better. How have you been holding up?”

  “We’ve been doing good.” Gene turned to Mark. He tussled the boy’s hair lovingly. When he stopped, Mark felt greasy. “Haven’t we?” The back of his head was to Connie and Rooke, so neither could see the threatening gleam in his eye.

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “We have.”

  Connie smiled. “I’m glad, Gene.” She stood and wrapped her arms around him. It looked so unnatural to Mark. Unlike his father, his mother’s age hardly showed. Compared to his dad’s baldness, her hair was long, cascading in curls down her shoulders. Even without the finely applied makeup she wore, Mark knew she was gorgeous. As Mark watched them embrace, he felt like he was watching a woman hug a dirty wastrel.

  Rooke cleared his throat, reminding everyone that he was still there. “Well, we’d better get to work. Your tutor must be getting impatient as well.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” Connie released Gene and clapped her hands. “You got a job! I’m so proud of you, Mark.”

  “Thanks,” Mark said. He beamed at his mother.

  “Do you have to leave right now? Can’t I offer you a cup of coffee?” she asked Rooke.

  “Sounds good to me,” Heather said, stumbling in sleepily, but already dressed for work. She adjusted her scarf up to her chin. She stuck out her hand for Connie. “Heather. Nice to meet you. I work alongside your son.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Connie said, shaking her hand. “Let me go find a coffeepot. Shouldn’t take long to make.”

  “Well, if you insist. Let me help,” Rooke said, accompanying Gene and her into the kitchen. “I’ll need to call the tutor and let him know we’ll be there a little late.”

  Heather sat down at the dining room table next to the kitchen. She kicked her dark shoes up onto one of the chairs. Mark took a seat next to her. He could see his parents, playfully kissing one another as Rooke mixed up the coffee. Now Mark felt he was home. Like the time before he gained his power. His mother was home, and any problems or tension would vanish for the short and precious time that she was here.

  “So, that’s your mom,” Heather said, picking at her teeth. “She’s pretty.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said, mumbling to himself. He laid his head down on his arms.

  “Simmer down now, you little ball of sunshine,” Heather said, bringing her face down to his level. “Who spilled your milk? Aren’t you happy to see your mom? You even came home to sleep for a change.” He looked at her, taken aback that she’d noticed.

  “It’s not that,” he said, turning away.

  “What is it, then?” He shrugged. “Do I
have to force you to talk, Mark?” He flipped his head back around. She was reaching up to her scarf, tapping the small bump under it.

  “It won’t last,” Mark finally said, preferring not to receive a spray of Heather’s gaseous breath. She dropped her hands and waited for him to continue. “They’ll get sick of each other. Then my mom will take another assignment out of state, leaving me with my dad. Because he can’t fight with my mom, he’ll take it out on me.”

  “Take what out on you?” Heather asked.

  Mark glanced into the kitchen. Rooke was laughing with his parents. “How he can’t get a job, how he sits around because ‘someone has to take care of me,’ ” Mark said, pointing at himself. “How his dreams are ruined, how he can’t make something of his life—whatever he feels like ranting about.”

  She blinked, appearing to shake off the lethargy from her eyes. “So that’s why you sleep at the office?” Heather asked, more attentive than before.

  He nodded slowly, resting his head on his arms. He hated riding the entire familiar train of thought. The end always ruined the ride, shortening it by taking him to the terrible, final station where he’d plead for Connie to take him with her. She never did, believing Gene would take good care of him.

  From the kitchen, his father made eye contact with him. Mark shivered. The timidity he experienced whenever the bulky man stood glowering down at him; the oozing disgust that poured from Gene’s eyes; and the loathing tone that Mark cringed at, ready to run from—it was the fuel for nightmares.

  A hand rubbed his shoulder. Mark flinched. Heather looked at him with pity. “Uh,” she said, drawing out the word. “I’m not good at this. Sorry, I suppose?”

  “It’s alright,” he said, wiping his eyes. “At least she’s here for now.” He sniffed. “Thanks.”

  She smiled. Rooke entered the room and handed Heather a cup of coffee. “Come on, Mark.” Are you riding with me?” he asked Heather.

  “Yeah,” she said. She drank some coffee and followed Rooke to the door.

  “Good luck, honey,” Connie said, hugging Mark.

  “Have fun. Don’t work too hard,” Gene added. But his intimidating tone said otherwise.

  Heather guided Mark out the door. He had his mother back for a while, however short it might be. He couldn’t ask for much more than that.

  * * *