Somewhere in the parts of his brain that cataloged things like loss and grief, he realized Luc was right. Coming up in the league, he’d been a powerful defenseman, capable of scoring points, of quarterbacking the power play. But he’d been an angry player—ready to fight all the time.
And everyone had wanted a piece of that anger. Wanted to capitalize on his willingness to fight. Wanted to use him like a weapon, and he’d been all right with that. He’d had more than his share of hate for the world. But somehow, over the years he’d been sharpened so much, so effectively that there was nothing left but that black, black anger.
Was this how he wanted to go out?
No. What a stupid question. Who wants to go out in the minors, without playing most of his last year of NHL hockey? No one.
And he could be stubborn and stupid and fight this some more, but what was the point?
Swearing under his breath he grabbed his phone and texted Hornsby:
I’m sorry. Is there a time when we can meet?
Almost immediately the answer came back:
Monday morning 9 a.m., my office.
“Look!” Charlie, sitting in a puddle of early morning light next to the couch, held up a LEGO blob.
“A dog?” Becky asked, taking a sip from her Coke can. Icy cold and sweet, the drink woke up her mouth. Her whole body.
“Robot.”
“That doesn’t look anything like a robot.”
“Yes it does.” Charlie made the blob walk and in his best robot voice said, “I am a robot.”
She laughed. “I see it now. Good one.” She smiled at him as he started to build another one.
Charlie had never had so many toys. Yesterday, Tara Jean had kept putting toys and clothes and food in the shopping cart, like it was all free or something.
It got to the point where Becky couldn’t even protest without Charlie throwing himself a monster fit. More and more things just ended up in that cart. So now he was sitting in the warm sunshine in brand-new, fuzzy Thomas the Train pajamas, playing with brand-new LEGOs while she drank icy cold Coke. And there were eleven more cans in the fridge. Along with more fruit and vegetables than Charlie had ever seen in his life.
For the moment, at least, it didn’t seem like she’d totally screwed up.
“Do you like it here?” Becky asked her brother.
“Yep.”
In the quiet of early morning, without any screaming or the smell of Aunt Janice’s cigarettes, she let herself smile.
“Hey.”
She flinched at the sound of Uncle Billy’s voice.
“Look!” Charlie yelled and held up his gray LEGO blob.
“Great robot, buddy,” Uncle Billy said and came to stand beside them. “You guys are up early.”
“It’s eight.”
“That’s not early?” He yawned and stretched, his big muscles pulling and pushing against the T-shirt he wore. “Feels early.”
She wished she could hold on to this morning a little longer. If he’d just stayed asleep and let her keep pretending, it would have been like a vacation or something. A dream.
But he was here and if this was a dream, they had to wake up sooner or later.
“Have you heard from Janice?” she asked and Uncle Billy shook his head.
Becky tipped a blue LEGO piece right side up and then another, creating a tiny wall that wouldn’t hold back a thing.
“Is there … is there someone else we should call?” Uncle Billy said. “Someone who would be worried about you? Your school?”
She started to add a second story to her wall. “I didn’t go to school all that much.”
“What? Why?”
She shrugged. “Didn’t like it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because thirteen-year-old girls love school. It’s where all the boys are.”
Boys were stupid. All they did was get girls pregnant and sweat. Honestly, she didn’t see the appeal.
Uncle Billy sat down on the floor beside Charlie and Becky jerked her legs closer to her body.
“Help?” Charlie shoved a bunch of LEGOs toward Uncle Billy, bouncing with happiness.
“Sure, buddy,” Uncle Billy said with a smile and started to put together his own robot. “Why didn’t you go to school?” he asked Becky again.
“Someone had to take care of Charlie.” She was on to the third story of her wall, stealing blocks from Charlie, who didn’t seem to notice.
“Denise didn’t do that?”
“She was a junkie.”
She knew he was looking at her, but she just focused on her wall.
“So you couldn’t go to school?” Something about the tone of his voice made her angry. Like he didn’t believe her. Like she was just lazy or something. Stupid.
“You don’t know anything about my life.”
“So tell me.”
Once the social worker lady from the state had come to their house and Becky had managed to keep her mom sober for long enough to meet with her. They’d told the woman that Becky was being homeschooled. But there had been a moment in the middle of all those lies when Becky had imagined telling the truth. Opening her mouth and letting it all spill out, because she was just a kid and Charlie was a baby and she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. And she wanted to tell the truth. Because she was pretty sure what was happening wasn’t the best for anyone.
But then the social worker had given Mom a bunch of tests that Becky had to do to prove she was being homeschooled. And the moment was over. The DCFS woman left. Mom got high. Becky put Charlie down for a nap and did the tests.
And the moment to tell the truth never came again.
Until right now.
“She was clean when she was pregnant, but like three months after Charlie was born she started using again.” Uncle Billy wasn’t playing robots anymore, he was watching her. No judgment on his face as far as she could tell, and she’d seen a lot of judgment. “One day I came home from school and Mom was passed out on the couch, the needle in her arm, and Charlie was screaming his head off in his crib, still in the filthy diaper he’d worn all night. She hadn’t even fed him.”
“Oh my God, Becky.”
“How was I supposed to care about school or boys when all I could think about was Mom starting a fire with a cigarette and being too high to get Charlie out of the house?”
“No one helped you?”
“Who was going to help?” You, she thought. You were supposed to help. She knew better than to say it, but the words were there all the same—a terrible, terrible scream that wanted to get out.
For months after Mom died she’d thought about her rich, famous uncle Billy showing up in a limo to take her and Charlie away to a house where no one smoked and no one smacked and everything was safe and clean.
“What about Janice?” he asked.
Aunt Janice was a question she didn’t know how to answer. Yeah, she’d taken them in, but it was so bad Becky had wondered if they’d be better off at the church shelter.
She rubbed her wrist, where she could almost still feel Aunt Janice’s tight grip from the last time she got mad. Right before Becky bought those plane tickets.
“She’s my sister,” Uncle Billy whispered. “I know what she’s like.”
“Then why’d you leave us with her?” she asked, knocking over the wall she’d built, the words flying around the room like mean birds. “Never mind.” She jumped to her feet, wishing she was eighteen. Wishing she could at least drive. Wishing she could just leave. Just leave. That’s all she’d ever wanted.
“Please, Becky,” he said, looking at the pieces of LEGO instead of at her. “Sit down.”
This whole morning was ruined. Charlie wasn’t making LEGO blobs anymore, he was watching the two of them, worry all over his face, his thumb creeping toward his mouth.
“Don’t do that, Charlie,” she said, pulling his hand down, holding his fingers. Keeping her eyes off of Uncle Billy.
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“Forget what I said,” she told Uncle Billy’s knee. “It’s wonderful where we are. I go to school and I’m on the honor roll and Charlie goes to a great day care where no one smokes and they teach him stupid songs about wheels and buses!”
She felt the tears coming, tears that wouldn’t make anything right. She blinked them away, staring up at the ceiling.
“Becky,” Charlie whispered, patting her leg. “Becky, don’t cry.”
“It’s okay, Char,” she whispered back, sitting down on the couch so he could climb into her lap. She put her head in his neck, breathing in the smell of him. Banana and new pajamas.
“I wish I could say that I hadn’t known about you. But I did,” Uncle Billy said and she couldn’t breathe. “And I just … it was easier.”
“Easier?”
“To pretend that I didn’t know about you. What your life must have been like. I’m sorry, Becky.”
“Sorry doesn’t always cut it,” Charlie said, turning on Uncle Billy, her little defender. For about the hundredth time she regretted saying that to Charlie once when he’d spilled hot soup all over her.
Although this time “sorry doesn’t always cut it” sure seemed to fit.
“I know,” Uncle Billy told Charlie sadly. “But listen, I have to know about Janice.”
“Why?”
Uncle Billy had that same look on his face that Mrs. Jordal always had. That I-can-be-patient-while-you-figure-it-out look.
“She’s mean,” Becky finally said. “I was scared to leave Charlie alone with her all day.”
“Did she hit him?”
“No. But she hit me plenty, so I figured it was only a matter of time.”
Uncle Billy swore under his breath.
“Bad word!” Charlie the word-police pointed his finger at Uncle Billy.
“You want a Coke?” Becky stood and put Charlie back on the floor, uncomfortable with the broken walls and mean birds. The details of her life that were so ugly.
“For breakfast?”
“You drink coffee, don’t you?”
“I didn’t when I was thirteen.”
“Well, good for you.”
In the kitchen she opened the fridge and grabbed another can, and then swiped a banana from the counter for Charlie. But she couldn’t make herself go back into the living room. Charlie was talking to Uncle Billy, his voice excited, and Becky just stood there, the Coke in one hand and the banana in the other.
Her stomach felt queasy, like she’d already had too much pop.
So, she thought, staring at the perfect yellow of the banana. Not at all like the brown ones she bought on the half-off rack at the Giant Eagle. I did it. I said all those things.
“Becky?” It was Uncle Billy, behind her, and she closed her eyes for one minute, praying, even though she’d stopped doing that like a million years ago.
Let us stay. Say you’re going to let us stay.
“Yeah?” she asked and turned to face him, trying not to let all her hope show.
Becky, she imagined him saying. I’m not sending you back. I’m going to keep you here in this clean house. And you can go to school and Charlie will have a nanny and you’ll have a normal life.
“I have to make a few calls today, but maybe … maybe after that we can go have some fun.”
Her heart punched her stomach, disappointment making her sick. “Fun?”
“Yeah, it’s probably been a while for you, but there’s this water park down the road …”
A water park? Was he nuts?
Her can hit the counter with a thunk, causing a little pop to slosh up over her fingers.
“We don’t have swimsuits.”
“We can get some.”
“Charlie doesn’t know how to swim.”
“Do you?”
She blinked, wondering why he was doing this. Was he thinking that he wouldn’t have to worry about them if they drowned?
“Man,” he laughed. “I can practically hear your suspicious thoughts. I just thought it would be fun.”
“Isn’t your career ending or something?” She was being mean. Trying to get him to say “Forget it,” because what if they went? What if they did have fun? And then what would happen when Aunt Janice called and it was time for them to go back?
“Yep. It’s in the toilet. And instead of sitting here thinking about it all day on a Sunday when I can’t do anything about it, I thought a water slide, or a hundred, might help me forget.”
Like it will make me forget where I come from? Everything I just told you? I tell you my aunt beats the shit out of me and you want to take me to a water park?
“No.” She shook her head and took a giant sip, trying to rinse the taste of stupid wishes out of her mouth.
“No?”
“That’s what I said.”
He looked confused and angry. “Then what do you want to do?”
They were in a total stare down and maybe Maddy was right, Billy wouldn’t hurt them. Not on purpose. Not with his fists. But showing her and Charlie a little of what life could be like and then sending them back to Pittsburgh? He might as well punch her in the face.
Thinking of Maddy gave her an idea, a possible Plan C.
“I want to go to Maddy’s.”
His eyebrows went way up on his head, but he was smiling and she knew he wouldn’t say no—she’d seen the way they looked at each other.
“Give her a call. See what she says.”
She pulled the card from her pocket and hoped that Plan C went better than Plans A and B.
Janice hit Becky.
The words kept repeating themselves in an awful loop in his head.
There was no way the kids were going back.
The decision came with a thousand worries, but none of them as great as the doubt he’d been living under for the last two days. Making the decision felt good. He could breathe again.
He was going to keep the kids.
Keep the kids. It was so simple. He turned and started to make coffee.
“Maddy said we could go over,” Becky said, coming back into the room ten minutes after she’d left to make her call in private.
The scoop hit the edge of the coffee machine, scattering grounds across the counter. He swept them away. Waiting to turn around until he got the smile on his face under control.
“That’s great,” he said. Still smiling, but now down at the coffeepot. He hit the on switch.
“She told us to bring swimming suits. Her condo has a pool.”
“Are you kidding—” he started to say, turning. But she was gone.
That girl was working on something.
But then, so was he.
For the next few minutes, Billy did the best he could, laughing and joking with Charlie, trying hard to get Becky to smile—all while getting a diaper bag packed.
“I gotta make a phone call, guys,” he said and nearly ran to his bedroom.
It was still shadowed and dark in there, a cocoon with the shades pulled down. His purple duvet looked black.
He shook out the tight and tingling muscles in his arms before dialing. Not expecting an answer, he nearly dropped the phone when his sister said: “Hello?”
“Janice?”
“Well, well, if it isn’t the hockey star.” He heard the snick of a lighter, the quick inhale of her breath. He could imagine her so clearly—her face familiar but terribly older. Meaner.
God, he thought, closing his eyes against the sharp stab of pain. How had it all gone so wrong?
“Tell me, how is your day going?” Her voice was snidely amused. She’d sent those kids down, alone and scared, to fuck with him.
“This is a shit move, Janice. Even for you, sending those kids.”
“Oh, I didn’t send them. That was all Becky’s idea.”
“You didn’t pay—”
“Fuck you, Billy, like I got that money.”
He put the phone down, rested it against his leg. Becky was one tough kid. He was proud of her,
he really was.
“Billy!” Janice yelled and he lifted the phone up.
“Yeah.”
“Are you mad because we ruined your makeover?” Her laugh, which disintegrated into a hacking cough, set his teeth on edge.
“It’s not funny. They’re kids, Janice.” Are you such a monster? he wanted to ask. Has every bit of decency just abandoned your body?
“Yeah, Denise’s kids, and I been taking care of them and Denise for years. Dressing ’em. Schooling ’em. Paying for shit. All while you’ve been making millions! You try raising them.”
Most people didn’t realize that fighting during a hockey game wasn’t just about a guy losing his temper and going after another guy, though there was plenty of that. Cheap shots and ugly checks into the boards. But for a fight—a real, center of the ice, two-guys-going-at-it kind of throw down—there was a protocol.
If a guy dropped his gloves, he’d wait until the other one dropped his gloves, signaling he was ready to go, before taking a swing.
Janice had just dropped her gloves.
And he could drop his and they could scrap like dogs over a bone. It’s what she wanted, she’d wanted it for years. To start a huge fight. To play out some petty vengeance. Not because he was rich, though that had to sting.
But because he got out.
And she was sleeping up in Mom’s bed on 12 Spruce.
“Fine.”
“What?”
“I’ll take it from here, Janice. You’ll never—ever—touch Becky again.”
“Oh, you think it’s easy? Charlie’s three and still wears diapers and that girl’s got a mouth on her. She can find a way to ruin anything. They’re fucked up—”
“Then you’ll have no problem giving me custody.”
There was a long pause, the sound of her sucking on the end of a cigarette, and he worried, he really did, that she would dig in her heels for no good reason. To do nothing but cause him trouble.
“Oh fine, big shot, you think you can do better? Go right ahead. You’ll be sending them back in two months.”
“No, I won’t. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
He hung up. Every muscle clenched and the phone in his hand felt like a missile he could fire into space. Fire a thousand miles right into his sister’s face.
Crazy Thing Called Love Page 22
