by Brea Viragh
With the phone ringing in her ear, the girl nodded. Resigned. “He usually is. Stay with him, please.”
The guy refused to let go of my shoulder. “Not a problem.” Not a choice. I wondered how many people had passed him and refused to do anything. Probably more than a handful, from the state of him. He looked like he’d been on the floor for a good bit of time. And I definitely wasn’t the only one in the grocery store.
What was wrong with people?
I tried not to listen to the murmurs through the telephone line. Most of my focus zeroed in on Liam and the struggle to keep him standing. His head tipped back, eyes closed, and a fetid sigh escaping his lips.
Pretty much what I called a perfect afternoon.
A slight snore escaped and I tried to give him a shake, almost losing my balance. “Dude, wake up. I can’t carry you without a little help.” He didn’t want to listen, sinking back to his knees and taking me with him. “Your brother is going to be here in a few minutes. If the universe is willing. I have a book club meeting to get to,” I told the girl when she glanced over.
Liam opened his eyes but avoided my gaze. He definitely didn’t want to talk anymore, which was fine with me. The girl hung up the phone and nodded. “He’s on his way.”
“Great,” I muttered.
The minutes clicked by like a frozen river. I managed to get Liam over to the edge of the egg case and sit, while the rest of the store carried on around us, the girl going back to her register and customers pushing their carts through the aisles. I knew most everyone that passed, and some nodded and sent a wave in my direction.
Sure, wave. I tried to act like it was a normal day and I didn’t have a drunk stranger leaning his head on my shoulder. For some reason, he’d attached himself to me.
We waited in silence until the harsh slap of boots on linoleum interrupted the moment. “You’re not supposed to be here. Fuck, Liam.”
The expletive came out with the force of a swinging ax in a halting breath which meant he’d probably run all the way from the parking lot. It also sent a shockwave through me. The familiar baritone, the rhythmic cadences of the syllables. I recognized the tone. How—
Fenton.
Damn. Talk about the wrong place at the wrong time.
I glanced up at him with wide eyes. The expression on his face was carefully masked but I could tell he was surprised to see me there. Surprised to see his brother hanging off of me like a monkey on a tree. And he wished he was anywhere else. Or maybe he wished I was anywhere else. It was difficult to say at the moment.
He ran his hand through his hair and did his best to stare at his feet. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you serious right now?”
Great, he looked delicious. Distracted and antsy and wearing his bartender outfit, black shirt and black pants. And here I was, still wearing my pajama pants. The universe clearly had it out for me. The dark outfit Fenton wore offset the green in his eyes.
He glanced from his brother to me and then back again. Clearly, this was a moment he’d never wanted to happen.
It took effort to pry Liam’s fingers from my shirt. “I’m sorry. I was shopping for ice cream, and I found your brother sleeping by the—”
“You shouldn’t get involved,” Fenton interrupted. “You should have just…ugh.” He trailed off into silence, his tirade dying before he could finish his sentence. Hands went to his hair again and he scratched his scalp until I thought it would bleed. “You should have left him alone.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“That he was my brother? I find it hard to believe. Everyone in the fucking town knows we’re related.”
“I get that you’re angry—” I began.
“An understatement.”
I’d never seen Fenton look this resentful. The emotion was etched into his face, into every chiseled line, into the thin set of his lips and the narrowed hardness of his eyes. He was a different person than the smiling friend, the flirtatious bartender, the serious boss. Different from the playful lover remorseful in the light of day. Even when he was mad or conflicted about the night we spent together, there was something sure about him. Beneath the surface.
Something youthful.
This Fenton looked one hundred years older. Older and hollow, with tension keeping his shoulders tight enough to crack with a single touch. I wanted to reach out to him knowing he would toss me away. He was too angry to touch or soothe. This was a man poised to fight, knowing he’d done it before and would have to do it again many, many more times.
“I’ll help you get him to the car,” I said, rising to my feet, Liam clinging on my arm.
“No thanks. I’ve got it,” Fenton insisted. He lunged forward, eyes widening with shock when Liam stumbled in the opposite direction. He stared at me like it was my fault.
“Honestly. Two people are better than one. Why are you being so stubborn? Let me help you.” I tried to soothe him and remain calm when the drunk holding on to me refused to release his grip.
The offer came out of nowhere and I halfway thought he would throw it back in my face. Finally, Fenton gave a sharp nod. “Fine.” The admission cost him. “Take his left side.”
He reached down for his brother and grabbed the man’s arm. “Liam, let’s go,” he ground out. “Come on.”
Liam groaned, leaning hard on the shelf. “I’m thirsty.”
“We’ll get you some water when we get home.”
“Firewater!” Liam insisted, his syllables slurring.
Hell, the guy had obviously drunk enough firewater to pickle himself.
“You’re not getting any damn firewater.” Fenton groaned, hefting the other man up to get a better hold. “You were supposed to be getting clean. You told me you were getting help. That the last time I found you holed up somewhere sleeping off a binge was the last time. I left you on your own for a few weeks and this is what happens?”
I slipped under the opposite shoulder to offer support. It made sense now, I mused. Where Fenton had been running off to during the day. Why he’d been hostile and edgy when he returned.
“Hold on to me.”
I shouldn’t have said that. Liam took the suggestion to heart and dug his fingertips into the soft meat of my arm. Men.
“Thirsty,” he murmured. “I need a drink. Goddammit, someone get me a drink!” His voice rose into a yell.
“Yeah, bud, I know you’re thirsty. We’re going to get you something. Only a little longer.” It was the same thing I’d said to Jackie when we found her. Once in the passenger seat of her car with the motor still running. Once at a trailer park stumbling down some stranger’s steps. Once when she’d broken into the elementary school and smashed the windows. We’d managed to pay off the damage but still. I understood.
Fenton and I helped Liam along slowly, shuffling along the aisleways toward the front entrance of the store. In a small town where everyone knows their neighbor’s names, it was impossible to get out without running into someone, anyone you knew. Those people waiting at the checkout counter turned their heads to watch our progress.
“Don’t worry,” I said to the girl who’d made the phone call. “I’ll be back to pay for the stuff in my cart. Leave it there.” The ice cream was half melted and the book club fully forgotten.
I watched her nod before Fenton picked up the pace, ushering the three of us through the automatic front doors.
“You don’t have to do this. I got it,” he insisted curtly. Ahead I saw his pickup parked neatly within the lines. Even with the stress, he’d taken the time to do it right. One hell of a guy, there.
“I know you do.” It was the only thing I could say at the moment. He wouldn’t want to hear anything else.
“I’ve picked him up from worse places dozens of times before.”
“And your parents? What do they do to help him?”
“Nothing. They are used to his bullshit and wrote him off entirely. It’s on me.”
I wanted to tell Fe
nton that no, it wasn’t on him. It was on Liam to get the help. I kept my mouth shut.
He used his foot to nudge open the passenger door and deposit his brother on the seat. I added my weight to his, flip-flops skidding on the asphalt as I shoved against Liam’s deadweight.
It hurt when Fenton refused to meet my eyes. Or say anything beyond the cursory message begging me to go home. I could read between the lines. This was embarrassment beyond anything he’d experienced before.
I had to wonder why. Was it something I’d said? My presence he took offense to?
“How are you going to get him in your house?” I pushed, taking a step back, hands on my hips. “He must weigh a good fifty pounds more than you. And alcohol tends to make the body a little less willing to cooperate.”
“Don’t tell me about alcohol,” Fenton bit out. “I know about alcohol.”
“So you won’t mind me riding along with you. I can follow if you’ll feel more comfortable. I’m coming either way.”
He stood still in the parking lot, frozen with indecision. I knew I was being forceful, probably pushing him further than he was willing to go. It was none of my business what he did with his brother. It was none of my business how he chose to deal with the heaping load of stress piling high on his plate.
I couldn’t leave when he wanted me to. There was something about the hollowness behind his eyes. The resignation on his face when he looked at his brother now resting peacefully in the seat. It was enough to break my heart.
This was not the first time he’d had to clean up Liam’s mess. It wasn’t the first ten, or twenty times. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the last, either.
I wasn’t going to wait for him to tell me to leave again. “I’m coming with you,” I told him. “Get the keys out and let’s hit it. I’m getting hungry.” And missing book club. Before he could stop me, I opened the door and hauled myself up next to Liam. “Scoot over, pal.”
Fenton finally got his feet to work and stalked over to the driver’s side. “Shari, this is not the time to start an argument. Please, get out of the truck and go home. Go do whatever it is you want to do that doesn’t involve sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m serious. This isn’t your place. I have it handled.”
“My nose is going to continue sticking until you let me help you. It’s what friends do, Fenton. If you believe nothing else, believe that. Besides, Liam drooled all over my shoulder already.” I gestured down to the rapidly growing puddle. “Shut up and drive.”
His glare was fierce. One of the worst he’d thrown in my direction. Too bad I was becoming used to them. I could count on two hands the number of times he told me daily to get out of his face. I never listened.
“We don’t need your help.”
My gaze hardened. “You mean you don’t need my help.”
Liam chose that moment to stiffen between us, another sob tearing from his chest. I patted the side of his face the way I used to for Jackie. Knowing his emotions could turn on a dime. He needed both of us to be calm for him, otherwise, his energy could shoot in a very bad direction.
I was ready to defend myself from either Novack brother should they decide to lash out at my presence.
“Yes. I don’t need your help. You have it all figured out.” Fenton’s bitterness would have cowed a lesser woman. “There’s only so much you can do to help, Shari, before you cross a line.”
“Shopping for ice cream and stumbling across your brother was crossing a line?”
“And you really expect me to believe that’s what happened.”
“Absolutely,” I replied.
“Somehow I find it hard to believe. Like I said, I don’t need your help.”
Soon he would begin to understand who he was dealing with. “Well, too bad. You’re going to get it whether you like it or not. I’m not the type of person to walk away when my friend is in trouble. You offered me a job when I needed it?” I refused to make this into a play by play about the sex. “Now I’m here when you need it, whether you asked or whether you tell me to go.”
“Fine.” Fenton dragged the keys from his pocket, fastening his seatbelt. “Fucking fine.”
I clenched my jaw as the engine started. He drove out of the parking lot taking the turns too quickly. Liam slid across the seat and burped in my face with the action.
Did I mention this was a perfect evening?
The three of us kept to a stony silence in the truck cab, although there were words burning in my throat and dying there, turning to ash and sinking into my stomach. There was no way I’d tell Fenton what was really on my mind. Or to slow down, for that matter.
I’m sure I would hear about this later. Oh lord, would he save it up and unleash hell on me when he found the time.
I’d been accused of stubbornness, a hard head the likes of which no one had seen. I was also too concerned for my own good. Fenton wasn’t a stranger. He was a good man and the love of my life. Even if he blamed me for butting in, even if he became bitter over it, I wouldn’t let him go through this night alone.
We drove through town and took a right on a side road. Fifteen minutes of awkwardness was a small price to pay to see his home for the first time. He took another turn before pulling up outside of a small, one-story Dutch colonial artfully redone. He’d spent time there, I thought, revitalizing his own home before branching out with the bed and breakfast. It was old, yes, but far from run down. The front lawn was freshly mown and the garden beds as neat as a single man could do.
This was his first, I knew in a flash. His first project where he took a piece of himself and brought it to life. There were touches of him everywhere, from the window moldings to the minimalistic garden beds in front, more mulch than anything living.
It was the details that twisted my heart into a dozen sailor knots. He’d taken the time to coordinate paint colors, from the corbels to the porch posts and the shutters. It was a mark of control. The mark of a man who was wound too tightly and wouldn’t let anyone help him unwind.
No wonder the man didn’t have any free time. Between his properties and his two jobs, he must have been lighting the sparklers in both hands. Then Liam burped and brought my attention to the present moment. Yes, his brother…I knew the attention he had to pay in that respect, too.
“It’s a nice place,” I commented in the sudden silence when Fenton cut the engine.
“Thanks,” he said.
“I can tell you really care. About what you do.” My finger waved in a circle to encompass the front of the house.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Together we carried Liam out of the truck through the front door. He was still upset about my presence. I could feel it wafting off of him as surely as the stench of alcohol through his brother’s pores. At least Fenton wasn’t trying to get rid of me.
“Go make coffee,” he demanded the second we’re inside. “I’m going to put Liam to bed and I’m too keyed up for plain water.”
“Think you have enough energy to give the man a shower? He needs one. He has a little something on his shirt.”
Fenton glared at me, correcting his grip to hold Liam upright. “He can take his own damn shower the second he’s sober enough to stand.”
“I hear you.”
I tried not to feel weird making myself at home in the kitchen. It was done in a contemporary country style, with white shaker cabinets and a soapstone countertop. The faucet and cabinet pulls were midgrade polished chrome but kept neat. Fenton must have saved for months. It gave me a better idea of what I could do with the farmhouse, the types of finishes he would like to see there. It also gave me a better idea of the man and what made him tick.
I focused on the coffee pot and, though it took me a few attempts to locate the actual coffee, had a pot brewing when Fenton came out of the bedroom. The smell was pure nirvana and I focused on it and not everything else. A sliver of regret formed in my chest. I had a feeling nothing would be the same after tonight.
&nb
sp; “I gave him a couple of aspirins and a glass of water,” he told me unnecessarily. “Hopefully, he can sleep it off and be sober enough to go home in the morning. I haven’t been to his apartment in town for a while, so I’m not sure what kind of state it’s in. I hope he has enough clean clothes to make it through the week. I don’t know when I’ll find the time to go to the laundromat for him.”
“You’re not working tonight?”
“I was. When I got the call, I pulled in some help and took off. Not much more I can do. I’m in no shape to go back.”
He moved into the next room and, through the cutout in the wall, I watched him plop down on the sofa. At that moment he reminded me of Jackie those few nights ago. Empty and exhausted. As limp as a ragdoll with twice the problems. He wanted to ignore everything and hope his issues would go away.
I let out a breath, realizing I’d been waiting for his anger to hit me head on. Stupid, I knew. If we were in for an argument, it wouldn’t be a direct one.
“The coffee, Shar?”
I knew the way he liked it and prepared two cups for the both of us before joining him on the sofa. The sun had set and his features were shadowed in the dwindling light. Something small fluttered in my chest. Nerves or desire, I couldn’t tell the difference, but I pushed it down nevertheless.
He took the cup from me and slugged a couple sips. If the hot liquid burned his throat, he didn’t let on. “You shouldn’t have come tonight,” he repeated, wiping the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” I answered, “I know.”
“I don’t want to be at odds with you, especially not over this. But you have an unfortunate habit of insinuating yourself where you don’t belong. Why couldn’t you go home when I asked you to?” His eyes pleaded with me when he raised them, and his fingers tightened around the coffee cup until his knuckles turned white.
I sighed. “You’re too pigheaded to admit you need help. Not me, per say. Help in general. It’s okay, though.” My concern doubled in size, tripled, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’ll always be around when you get to the point where you need to ask.”
