by Marie Harte
“How is she?” he asked Rochelle.
“Better. She’s been eating well and exercising, and that helps a lot. Seeing you will make her feel ten times as good though.”
Great. Now he felt even more guilt for keeping his distance. Oscar’s sardonic expression didn’t help. His younger brother loved throwing Brad’s savior complex in his face.
Brad knew he had issues. He didn’t need his brother telling him that.
A few minutes later, they’d cleaned the chaos of the living room, and Vivienne Battle arrived. She entered through the back door, sweat clinging to her brow. Her blond hair now threaded with white had been pulled back into a ponytail. Her frailness, apparent in the birdlike bones of her body, contrasted with a healthy glow. She’d been getting plenty of sun, and it showed. Her blue eyes sparkled with vitality, and Brad was surprised to see her seeming so…healthy. She wore jogging pants and a sweatshirt and held up her wrist.
“Three thousand steps already, and it’s barely noon.”
Oscar looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s actually after one, Mom.”
“Details, details.” She came forward to kiss Oscar on the cheek and gave Brad a huge smile. “Oh, a visitor. Do I know you?”
“Ha ha. Funny, Mom.” He came forward to hug her, doing his best to focus on the now. He refused to look in her eyes and see blame for things he couldn’t change, guilt for events beyond his control. Instead, he’d only look for the love she had for her sons, which had never been in question.
He let her go after she struggled to go free.
She patted his chest. “Bah, you keep getting bigger and stronger.”
“Like a brainless ox,” Oscar muttered.
Rochelle chuckled, then pretended to cough to cover the sound.
“I heard that.” Brad gave his brother the finger when his mother looked away.
“And I saw that,” Rochelle said. “Boys.” She sighed. “Too bad you never had girls, Viv. Then instead of wrestling matches, we could have had tea parties and shopping days.”
“Hey, I like tea. And I like clothes.” Oscar tried to sound insulted. “Well, clean clothes. I don’t suppose you could do my laundry, Rochelle.”
She just looked at him.
He sighed. “I tried.”
“I could wash—” Vivienne started.
“I was kidding,” Oscar hurried to say, especially when Rochelle’s eyes narrowed on him. “Actually, we should celebrate the prodigal son coming home. Got a fatted calf to kill?” A little bit of bitterness came through, but not as much as Oscar usually spouted when dealing with Brad’s presence.
Progress, Brad supposed. “Actually, I was hoping to spend the day with you guys. I’m off until Monday.”
“Your boyfriends on your nerves?” Oscar taunted.
Brad had never understood if his brother actually disliked his friends or felt jealous at Brad’s closeness to them. Or if it was all an act to make their mother pay him more attention, something he could never seem to get enough of.
And there I go being petty again.
He cleared his throat and managed a grin. “Yeah, they are.”
Oscar laughed. “I was kidding, man. The guys are cool. When you see them again, tell Tex I said hi.”
“I will.” Tex? Why Tex?
“If you’re really here to help, there’s some things you can—”
“Wait, wait,” Vivienne interrupted. “Let’s spend some time catching up first. Oscar, take a break, honey. You work too hard as it is.”
“And you’re on the early shift tomorrow,” Rochelle reminded him. “You don’t have to fix everything broken in the house.” Under her breath but loud enough for Brad to hear, she added, “God knows how long that might take.”
Brad bit back a grin. “Yeah, Oscar. Stop trying to make me look bad.”
“Too easy. I’m gonna let that one go.” Oscar grabbed a root beer from the fridge and offered Brad one.
He accepted it, as well as the food Rochelle prepared while his mother sat with him and Oscar at the kitchen table. “Mom, the place looks great. You’re doing an awesome job.” No longer a hoarder’s paradise, the house wasn’t so crowded. His mother had made huge strides in getting rid of her many collections.
His mom beamed. “Thanks, sweetie. But it’s really Rochelle and Oscar who’ve been doing all the work. I just sit back and let them clear it all away.”
He frowned.
“I’m kidding. I’ve been doing most of the cleanup, so don’t give me that look. I think the therapy you’ve all been hounding me for years to get is finally starting to take.” She gripped the hand Rochelle put on her shoulder. “Oscar has gone with me a few times.”
“More fun than AA and a King County holding cell all rolled into one.” Oscar crossed his eyes.
Brad choked on laughter.
“That’s not funny,” Vivienne snapped. “Oscar, you were there. Tell your brother about our sessions.”
“Um, how about we talk about the house instead?” Oscar suggested, shooting Brad a warning look that clearly stated, You don’t want to hear this.
Rochelle grabbed more cheese and crackers, set them on the table, and took a seat. “Yeah, Viv. Tell Brad how your cleaning frenzy really started.” Rochelle said to Brad, “She saw a show on Netflix and got super excited to be organized. It’s actually catching. I’ve given away over half my shoe collection.”
“Which leaves her with just five hundred more pairs,” Oscar deadpanned, then laughed when she punched him in the arm. “Ow. You hit too hard. Go beat up on Mr. Biceps instead.”
“I know you’re not talking about me.” Brad looked his brother over. “You seem like you’ve been lifting a little. Not bad.” Oscar really did look better.
“Ech. Don’t give me compliments. It gives me hives.” Oscar had never liked Brad’s praise, which didn’t make much sense because Oscar continually angled for approval, then turned it away. Even now, he acted as if he wanted Brad to hang round, but when Brad did, he’d pretend Brad’s presence didn’t much matter.
Trying to figure out how Oscar’s brain worked exhausted him…almost as much as trying to figure out how to handle their mother. He turned to Rochelle, who sat watching him with a smile.
“Rochelle, what have you been up to?”
“Same old, sweetie. I’m still working at the clinic, and your mom has been helping me at the community center. We’re working with the seniors on a variety of programs.”
“Seniors.” His mother huffed. “I barely turned fifty-six and already I’m old.”
To her credit, his mother appeared years younger. Instead of possessing a haunting, mournful beauty, she looked graceful and even elegant. A total contrast to her two bruiser sons and the tough chick-magnet that was Rochelle.
Vivienne cleared her throat. “Boys, there is something I need to tell you.” Her voice shook when she announced, “I’m ready to start dating.”
Brad and Oscar looked at each other, then turned to Rochelle, confused.
“Viv, I think they know that,” Rochelle tried, as she did every so often, to air out the family secrets…that weren’t very secret.
But Vivienne shook her head. “No, they still think I’m mourning their father.”
“No, Mom,” Oscar said. “He’s been gone too long for us to think that.” He reached across the table to grip her hand, and she squeezed it tightly.
“It’s okay, Oscar. I know how much you still miss him.”
“I never knew him. How could I miss him?”
Oscar’s words fell on deaf ears as their mother tuned into her favorite topic—loss. She’d always been a glass-half-empty kind of person. Unfortunately, time and therapy had done little to change that. And Brad had been so hopeful about a drama-free visit home.
“Poor Bradford. Only seven years old when y
ou lost your daddy. He’d be so proud of the man you’ve become. If only he could see you now…”
Brad sighed. He’d finished grieving his father years ago, the man a loving but distant memory. But God forbid his mother let it go. He didn’t begrudge her feelings for her dead husband. He just wished she’d stop attributing that sadness to him. He had plenty of other reasons to fall down the rabbit hole.
Oscar squeezed her hand. “Mom? You were saying you want to start dating again?”
She blinked. “Why yes. I think it’s time I found someone I can love with all my heart.”
Finally. Brad and Oscar shared a hopeful glance.
Rochelle had been through so much for so long, only true love—and a sense of humor—could have kept her with Vivienne. Hell, Brad had moved out the first moment he could, enlisting in the Marine Corps at eighteen. Rochelle stayed close but not too close, willingly living in the proverbial closet as Vivienne’s neighbor and friend.
“That’s great, Mom.” Brad smiled. “We only want you to be happy.” And how many times have I said that?
Rochelle nodded. “The boys want you to be happy, Viv. I think you should feel free to tell them the truth.” He hated the hopeful look in her eyes, having seen that hope dashed too many times to count.
But maybe, just maybe, this time…
Vivienne locked gazes with Rochelle and looked quickly away.
He saw Rochelle’s disappointment and wanted to shake his mother. In what world could she possibly be living in that her sons wouldn’t know about the significant other she’d been sharing a life with for the past thirteen years?
A glance at Rochelle showed her shaking her head, quietly asking him to say nothing.
It’s not okay. He couldn’t look at his mother, lest she see his sheer disgust for her cowardice.
Viv lifted her chin, her face red, hearing nothing she didn’t want to hear. “I just want you boys to know I’m a woman with a woman’s needs.”
Oscar barked a laugh. “Okay, just don’t. Date whoever you want.” He smiled at Rochelle. “Love whoever you want. But by all that’s holy, do not ever tell us about your needs.”
“What he said,” Brad agreed, determined to keep his visit amenable.
“Fine.” Vivienne huffed. “Well, I’m glad that’s out of the way.”
Before his mother could add anything that would make him want to run for his car and not look back, Brad told them about his upcoming video spot with Pets Fur Life, being vague about Avery. His family was familiar with her name. They’d been by his side when his world had gone to hell five years ago, though his mother had been far from helpful.
“You’re going to be on Searching the Needle Weekly? That’s so exciting.” Grounded once again, Vivienne sounded together, like a woman who cared. He wondered how Rochelle could stand it, living with a woman who only focused on what she wanted, what she could handle. Had his father lived, would he and Vivienne have stayed married?
He glanced at Rochelle and thought not. Hell, his mother couldn’t even be honest with herself.
Words Rochelle had spoken years ago, when he’d realized just who she really was to his mother, came back to him. “Don’t judge her, Brad. You have no idea what your mother’s upbringing was like. She’s done the best she can for your family. I know you don’t realize it, but she’s a lot stronger than you give her credit for.”
“But how can you stand it? She acts like you don’t exist!”
“She loves me, and I love her.” Rochelle had shrugged. “None of us are perfect, Brad. Certainly not me. It’s enough to know we love each other, and our lives are our business. Please don’t make choices for me.”
“I love you, and I’m not afraid to tell anyone. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
She’d kissed his forehead. “I know, and that makes me feel so blessed. And you know what? I’ll love you no matter what, too. You’re my son in all but blood, sweetie. I’m so proud to be a part of your life.”
Since he loved and respected her, he supposed he could understand her stance on leaving things be, wanting only for Rochelle to be happy. But he still thought she was the best of them, and that neither he, his brother, nor his mother deserved her.
Oscar frowned at him. “Hey, I asked a question. You’re good with all this?”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I am. At first, I wasn’t, but the reporter I’m working with is also being made to do this for the publicity. And you know, if it helps home strays, it’s not a bad thing.” From what he gathered, Pets Fur Life had been having funding issues.
“I guess not.” Oscar glanced down at his drink then back up at Brad, a faint glimmer of need in his eyes. “Um, well, do you think I could come watch the taping?”
“Oh, me too?” Vivienne asked.
“I’m sorry. It’s a closed set,” he lied. “But maybe in the future?”
Oscar shrugged. “Sure.”
“Okay.” His mom smiled and launched into more questions about the festival, Station 44, the guys, and how he liked the new place.
He answered, feeling pleased about the turn of his visit. Afterward, helping Oscar repair a few broken shelves and tightening a few leaky pipes, he made a decision. In a low voice, he said, “I was lying to Mom. You can come Friday if you want to.”
The look on Oscar’s face unnerved him because his brother appeared overjoyed. “Oh cool. Thanks, man. I get you on Mom.” He nodded. “You sure this reporter is okay?”
“Her name is Avery Dearborn.”
Oscar blinked. “Seriously? The one who fucked with you all those years ago?” What went unsaid—the one Oscar had spilled his guts to in a drunken daze.
“Same one. She doesn’t want to rehash things any more than I want to.”
Oscar snorted. “She should have been fired after what she did. She was all over us, digging into shit she had no business looking at.”
“I know.” And it seemed Avery knew too. But what did that mean to him, exactly?
Chapter Five
Thursday evening, Avery picked at her food while sitting on the couch, eating off a TV table that cost more than all of her secondhand living room furniture combined, while her father focused on his crossword puzzle and honey chicken. A rerun of Jeopardy! played on the television, but Avery had no enthusiasm for French poets or Yankee Hall of Famers.
Alex Trebek quizzed contestants while Avery pretended her father wasn’t ignoring her and her father pretended she’d been born with a Pulitzer in hand. Ah, happy times.
Her mother entered the living room, glanced at them, and sighed. “Seriously, you two? Len, let it go. Avery, I, for one, loved the festival. You were the best part of it.”
Avery smiled, wishing she could overlook her father’s disapproval to bask in her mother’s unwavering support. But she could never get past how much she disappointed her father. The fact he didn’t respect her or the work she did was like an arrow to the heart.
“What’s that?” Avery’s father glanced up, confused. Or at least, seeming confused. With Len, Avery could never tell. He was a master manipulator, which was a great thing when dealing with stubborn informants. Not so great when trying to share real emotions.
He asked, “What’s a five-letter word starting with V meaning mercenary?”
Her mother frowned. “Hmm. Good question.”
“Venal.” Avery nibbled at her chicken.
“Oh, thanks.” Her father scribbled the word and continued to work down the crossword.
June Dearborn cleared her throat.
Len looked up. “What?”
“I was just saying how great Avery was on Saturday.” She gave him the look.
He blinked, glanced at Avery, and smiled a little too wide. “Oh, yes. After you calmed down that dog, it went well. Good job.”
Hmm. I’ve got a word for you, it’s—she had to
count on her fingers—eleven letters and starts with P. How about patronizing?
Her mother then gave Avery the look.
Avery sighed. “Thanks. It was pretty funny in retrospect. The paper is getting a lot of attention for it. The mayor’s totally pleased with the support for Pets Fur Life as well as the positive reinforcement for the new fire station. Right now, the city is looking pretty.”
Her father grunted. “Mayor Bentz isn’t so bad. Would be good to get his attention. Imagine some meatier pieces. Maybe something on the new legislation he’s been implementing.” He sounded excited.
Legislation? Sadly, Avery had no idea what he was talking about. She didn’t care for politics. At all. “Good point, Dad.”
Her mother smiled, focused on the positive, ignoring everything else her father said. Like usual. “Yes, Avery was amazing, and of course people loved the segment.” She winked at Avery. “It didn’t hurt that you were saved from falling by a handsome fireman either. Is he single?”
“Mom.” Avery flushed, wondering if she should mention Brad’s identity as the man who’d been the start of her decision to torpedo her career all those years ago. Her father’s attention had her rethinking that idea. He looked so pleased with her. “The fireman who’s helping is really nice.” Lie. “He’s super excited to be working on the articles with me.”
“Articles?” Her father’s bright-blue eyes had always seemed more intense than hers.
“I’m doing a series on Pets Fur Life and Station 44, since a few guys at the fire station have kind of adopted their cause. Searching the Needle Weekly is covering pet adoptions for the next few weeks, and we’ll help rehome—”
“That will help you get an interview with the mayor.” Len nodded. “And that might segue into something a little more serious. You can use this fireman to step up the ladder to hit his battalion chief or, hell, maybe even so far up as the deputy chief if you do it right. I’d love to know what they think of the current funding they receive from the city. Our tax dollars could be better spent, you know.”
