Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  “Gimme my money back,” Cheryl demanded in a whiny slur from his feet. “I need that.”

  “Yeah, well too damn bad, your kids need it more.” Tommy had never been so grateful for a little cash. With nearly eighty dollars left, he could take the twins to the clinic as soon as it opened.

  “You give that back!” she hollered, swiping at him. “You don’t know what I had to do for that!”

  Cal seemed completely unaware of anything going on around him, and Tommy wondered what else was in his system because drink had never made him quiet before. He turned his attention back to his stepmother. “What? Sucking cock out at the truck stop? Yeah, I know, and I don’t give a shit. The babies are sick, and they need to see the doctor, so consider this your good fucking deed for the day.” He was furious, whispering down into her face in the hope that the twins might sleep a little longer. Cold rage slid through him knowing they were out getting shitfaced when two of their kids were hurting and sick and sad. It wasn’t new, it wasn’t a surprise, but it was the kind of thing that made him see red.

  “I’m sick too! I need that.”

  “Sick in the head,” he offered, still glaring down at her. “And shut the hell up because, I swear to God, you wake the twins and I’m locking you and Cal in the goddamn basement till you shrivel up and die.” His tone was murderous, and Cheryl must have believed him because that was the last he heard from her all night.

  As he stomped back up the stairs, he wondered to himself why he didn’t do it. Locking them in the basement seemed like a trick out of a sitcom, but hell, it would be one way around their bullshit.

  EVERYONE WAS already moving when he got up again. The twins had only stirred during the Cheryl and Cal Comedy Hour, and he’d managed to get them back to sleep and catch a little more for himself.

  Stepping over his parents and tripping on an enormous toy truck in the living room, Tommy was nearly run down by Carrie as she blazed past him with a piece of toast in her hand. He made his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Colleen was there. The babies were sitting up in high chairs and working on small servings of oatmeal, getting more on the tray than in their mouths.

  “Time is it?” he asked, stretching and reaching for his mug.

  “Almost seven.” Colleen passed over a small carton of half-and-half.

  Nodding toward the living room, Tommy asked, “Where’d that truck come from?”

  Davey smiled proudly as he scooped more oatmeal from his bowl. “I found it.” He had just turned thirteen and his blond hair and dimples made him look a lot more innocent than he actually was.

  Tommy walked over to his brother. “Found it where?”

  “Other side of town,” Davey answered amiably. “It was just sitting out in someone’s yard. Figured the babies might like it.” A brotherly tap landed on the back of Davey’s head and he flinched. “What? I found it!”

  “You don’t nick shit from kids. Jesus, Davey. If you’re gonna steal somethin’, get some diapers and formula.”

  “I got formula.” Davey sounded indignant.

  Tommy wanted to laugh. Instead, he looked sternly at Davey. “Take it back.”

  “The formula?”

  “The truck. Christ.”

  Davey didn’t seem to appreciate the order. “But what if I get caught putting back something I got away with taking in the first place?”

  He made a fair point—the damage was done—but there were those limits again, and it was bad enough Tommy let the kids steal things like food and toilet paper. Robbing someone in their own home was a line he didn’t want any of them crossing. “Take Collin with ya. He’s young enough, if you say your brother took it and he came back to return it and apologize, he’ll just get a pat on the head or a finger wagged in his face.”

  Davey narrowed his eyes, but he grumbled a “Fine” as he finished his breakfast.

  Looking at Colleen, Tommy asked, “Don’t you have school today? You’re not even dressed.”

  “I was gonna pick up a shift at the diner. Figured I’d just ditch today.”

  Tommy had made it halfway to a chair, but he stopped and went back to Colleen. “Excuse me?”

  “What?” she asked distractedly as she wrote down when she’d given the twins their medicine that morning. She stuck the note on the refrigerator and looked back at Tommy. “I’m taking my GED this summer anyway. Not like it matters if I show up for class.”

  “We haven’t decided that, Col, and it does matter.” He knew he didn’t have any right to tell her she was finishing high school, especially when he’d dropped out at sixteen and started working wherever and whenever he could to keep the lights on and the taxes on the house paid, but he was firm with her. He didn’t want her to ruin her chances of getting out of there. He had always hoped she would be the first of them to break the cycle.

  “We need the money, Tommy.”

  That was true enough. Even with her tips, she didn’t make much, and Tommy was only a couple of dollars over minimum wage. They always needed money. “It’s one more year, Colleen, Christ. Just… go to school and gimme a chance to figure something out, okay? Please.”

  She sighed and looked doubtful. “Fine, but honest to God, Tommy, we’re not gonna make it another year like this.”

  “I’ll find something that pays better or… something, just… we’ll work this summer, we’ll save up a little. It’ll be fine, okay?”

  “All right, but it’s an option, okay?”

  “No it’s not. Now get your ass ready.”

  She glanced at the clock. “Shit, now I’m gonna be late.”

  Tommy watched her run out of the room and let himself laugh. They were a fucked-up little clan, but they were his. That was the way he saw it, anyway.

  Mikey brushed past on his way through the kitchen. Nearly fifteen, he was tall and gangly with a mop of brown curls flopping over his forehead. “Where are you taking the trashcan?” Tommy asked him.

  “They’re starting to stir, and I’m not cleaning up after them again.”

  “It’s your turn,” Davey told him.

  Tommy could tell by the tone of Davey’s voice he was afraid Mike was going to try and get out of the chore.

  “Yeah, and if this works, when it’s your turn, you remember this.” Mike tapped the can. “Find us a new one today after school. This will be the official Cheryl and Cal Puke Bin.”

  He looked overly pleased with his new plan as he drummed the plastic bin and walked with a bounce in his step to the living room.

  The door to the kitchen was propped open and Tommy could hear him as Mikey stood over their parents. “Hey, wake up, old man. This is for you and stepmonster, got it? Puke on the floor again, and I’m using your faces to wipe it up.”

  Laughing as he sipped his coffee, Tommy wondered if he should get onto Mike about talking to them that way. He decided respect should be earned, and neither one of them was even in the running for that.

  “Did you fix the wheel on the stroller?” he remembered suddenly, asking Davey if it was still usable.

  “Yeah, last week, why?”

  “Gotta take the kids to the doc.”

  “HUNDRED AND twenty-eight goddamn dollars and they have the balls to call it a free clinic,” Tommy muttered to the twins as he crouched in front of them. The stroller wheel had come loose again and he was trying to fix it as midday cars rushed past him. “They should call it the ‘fuck you in the ass’ clinic,” he grumbled, jamming the wheel back on and giving it a good hit. “The ‘we’ll let you die if you don’t pay up front’ clinic.” He gritted his teeth, his hand burning as he finally got the wheel back in place. “The—”

  “The ‘you’re better off treating it yourself’ clinic?”

  Tommy jumped at the sound of Bobby’s voice behind him. “Jesus, did they kick you off the Force or something?” He looked up at Bobby who was standing at his side as if he’d been there the whole time.

  “I’m entitled to a couple days off a week, ya know.” Bobb
y laughed as he reached into the small paper bag he carried with him. He pulled out two cookies and passed them down to the babies.

  “You really should ask before ya go passing out candy and cookies. What if the doc said they can’t have sweets, or they’re allergic, or….”

  “Or you just don’t want me making nice with them?”

  “Yeah, or that.” Tommy stood up and kicked the wheel once to make sure it stayed before he reached to unlock the brake.

  Bobby laughed, but he sounded hurt at the same time. “Why not, Tom? What’s wrong with being nice to them?”

  “I just don’t like people… swooping in, is all.” He’d started walking, hoping Bobby would continue on in the other direction, but he had no luck at all today apparently.

  “I swoop?” Bobby asked, following along, nearly at Tommy’s side. “I’m a swooper now?”

  “That ain’t even a word.”

  “Neither is ‘ain’t.’” Bobby munched on a cookie, trying to offer one to Tommy.

  “Don’t wanna get a gut, and that shit’ll rot your teeth.”

  “But thanks for the offer…,” Bobby added quietly for him. “Why was the clinic a hundred and twenty-eight just to look at their ears?”

  “They needed their booster shots, and they gave me some pink shit to kill the ear infection, plus I owed them twenty for last time I had to take ’em in. Shit adds up fast.”

  “Did you have… I mean, is it gonna… are you…?”

  “Jesus, I didn’t know you stutter.” Tommy eyed him for a minute, knowing what Bobby was getting at. “Look, I appreciate last night and you bein’ cool about shit all the time and bein’ nice to the kids and… all that shit. I do, honest to God, but… why?”

  Bobby stopped when Tommy did, and he glanced down at the twins as if he’d find the answer in their faces. “Why not?” he countered, looking back up into Tommy’s eyes.

  “You can’t answer a question with a question,” Tommy huffed, fidgeting with the hood of the stroller when he felt a few warm raindrops start to fall.

  “I just did.” The smirk was back on Bobby’s face and Tommy wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss it or smack it off. “Seriously, why can’t someone just be… nice?”

  “Because no one is ever nice for no reason. Everyone’s got an angle, everyone’s got a reason for doin’ shit.”

  Bobby made a quick buzzing sound, signaling a wrong answer. “Bullshit. Why do you do what you do? You’re twenty-two years old. You could pick up and leave, make a way for yourself, go out and have fun or go to college or… something, just for you. Instead, you act like a forty-year-old single father. You could dump it all in Colleen’s lap, but you don’t. You don’t even tell Cheryl to go fuck herself and take care of her own kids, because you and I both know the odds of those two being Cal’s are slim.” He paused for a breath, then asked, “So what’s your angle?”

  Tommy looked at him for a long minute, not really having an answer. On his worst days, the days he hated himself for, he did think about just taking off, telling them all good luck and see ya! But he’d never do it, never even give it honest consideration. “It’s different with family.” Tommy was sure about that one thing if nothing else. He put his hand on the top of Max’s head under the hood of the stroller. “The family you’re given and the one you choose. It’s different.”

  They started walking again, only because Tommy was still trying to escape. He cursed the fact they had one car for all eight of them.

  “I still say bullshit,” Bobby told him, continuing on the same line. “It’s dark out, late at night, you see an old woman at a bus stop, face down in the mud. Her purse is open, money spilled out, she’s down for the count. Do you take the money and run or call 911?”

  Tommy stopped and looked at him then, feeling a flash of anger that Bobby would even have to ask. “Call 911, asshole.”

  “So what’s there to gain for you? Doing something nice like that and all.”

  “That ain’t nice, that’s just… Christ, you don’t leave someone to die.”

  “Okay, your neighbor, what’s her name? Farah or whatever? Her power gets cut off, you have some cash and she doesn’t, do you let her sit in the dark, or do you cover it for her till she can pay you back?”

  “I cover it. She keeps an eye on the house if Colleen and I can’t get opposite shifts.”

  “That’s the only reason? Really?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Wow, you would have rocked debate team.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question, Bobby.”

  “I did, you just don’t realize it yet.”

  Tommy stopped again and glared at Bobby. “Did you just call me stupid? Jesus fucking Christ, the balls!”

  “I’d say more like purposely obtuse.”

  “I… that’s a dressed-up way of calling me stupid.”

  Bobby laughed, his smile as bright as the sun. “Not stupid, just not hearing me because you don’t want to.”

  “Ya got that right.” Tommy started to walk again.

  Still at Tommy’s side, Bobby said, “I just… I became a cop for a reason, ya know? I saw where I could make a difference, and I went for it.”

  “So you think showing up and passing out doughnuts is gonna make a difference to us?”

  “I think kindness always makes a difference. There’s not much of it around here, and it does help, yes.”

  Tommy muttered under his breath, a colorful curse, then asked, “So, what, come Christmas you’re gonna be our secret Santa now? Jesus.”

  A genuine bark of laughter slipped from Bobby before he said seriously, “If I thought I could do that and keep my balls for New Year’s, I would.”

  “I know what you coppers make. You don’t have that kind of cash lyin’ around. And I would have your balls for it.” The image sent a quick spark of heat through Tommy, and he could feel himself flush at it, glad he was looking straight ahead with his face tipped down to avoid the rain, which was getting heavier. He could hear Bobby mumble something next to him but didn’t catch it. He hoped it was at least the end of the debate. “Where’s your car?” he asked suddenly, wondering why the guy was walking when the sky looked ready to storm.

  “Back at the bakery. I felt like a walk.”

  “More like you felt like harassing me.”

  “That too.” Bobby laughed softly, amused.

  Tommy hadn’t realized how far they’d gotten. They were nearly home now. “Speaking of, how the hell did you afford that car on your wages? You on the take, copper?” he asked as they turned up the walkway to the house.

  Bobby practically snorted at that. “Me? Seriously?” He stepped up to the porch as he reached down to help lift the stroller up the front stairs. “I, uh… I live with Mom, so I have some disposable income.”

  Tommy stopped halfway up the steps and laughed out loud. “You live with your mother?”

  It was Bobby’s turn to narrow his eyes. “It’s not like that.” He tugged the stroller so Tommy would move again. The two of them lifted the babies and their ride up easily to the porch. “When Dad died, she was having a hard time—lonely, couldn’t keep the house up by herself—so I moved back in.”

  Unlocking the front door, Tommy pushed it open and went to get Max out of the stroller, but Bobby already had the boy in his arms. He picked up Zoe instead. “Don’t you have brothers and sisters that could help out?” he asked, trying not to feel as curious as he actually was.

  “Nope, just me. They always wanted a big family, but I was all they got.”

  “Not such a bad deal,” Tommy murmured to himself. He stopped in his tracks when he found Cheryl and Cal still facedown on the floor at nearly noon. “Christ,” he whispered, the sound of defeat and frustration hanging in the air as he exhaled. He let Bobby in and closed the door. “Get up.” Tommy tapped Cal with his foot. “Lazy fuckin’… Christ, what I wouldn’t give….” He continued to mutter to himself as he made his way through the house, setting Zoe down with a
small pile of toys in the living room.

  “Did you bring my money back, Tommy?” Cheryl asked. She got up onto her knees and looked around the room like it hurt to be alive. Her bleached blonde hair was matted down on one side of her face and her shirt hung open over her sagging tits and ratty bra.

  “No, I gave it to the doctor so your kids could get their shots.” The house reeked of vomit and it hit him like a punch even from six feet away. “Did you use the can we left for ya?”

  Cheryl blinked in confusion and then tipped the can to look inside. “Guess so,” she muttered. “Where’s my money, Tommy? You can’t just steal from me.” She looked at Bobby. “He’s a cop, ain’t he? You, tell him to give me my money back.”

  “She can’t even remember their fucking names half the time, but me taking her money to pay for the doc, that she remembers,” Tommy growled to Bobby as he went to the kitchen.

  Bobby still held Max like he didn’t trust to put him down near Cheryl. Tommy heard him ask her, “Uh… do you have proof of having had money? Proof of where you got it?”

  “What?” she asked, confused, her head obviously still spinning.

  “If I’m going to make someone give you your money back, money that was allegedly taken from you, I have to know how much it was, where you kept it, where you got it, see a pay stub… that sort of thing.”

  Tommy let out a snort of laughter, realizing Bobby was messing with her, liking it.

  “Piss off.” Cheryl got to her feet with a stumble as Cal started to lift his head from the front carpet. “I need a drink,” she said to Cal.

  “We’re out,” Tommy informed her as he came in from the kitchen with two sippy cups and a little bowl of crackers and sliced bananas.

  “Out? How could we be out?”

  “’Cause ya drink like the world’s ending tomorrow? ’Cause ya don’t know when to quit? ’Cause—”

  “Because you spent all my money on some shit we didn’t even need?” Cheryl spat back before she headed into the kitchen.

  Tommy could hear her opening cabinets, the refrigerator, tearing the room apart. He knew better than to try and stop her.