Not Today

by MC Lee

  “Absolutely not,” Noah said. “I learned to live without them. It’s not the same thing.”

  I let my hand drop. “I know what you’re trying to do. And I’m not talking about my brother,” I said stubbornly.

  Noah leaned down and kissed me again. “I’m not asking you to.”

  “Just so we’re clear.”

  He lowered himself until he was stretched out beside me, his head tucked against my shoulder. “You never told me how you feel about short-term relationships.”

  I stroked a hand through his hair and offered up the truth. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  I WOKE knowing immediately that something was wrong.

  Noah was still cuddled up by my side, his shallow breathing indicating he was asleep. But instead of warm sunshine slanting through the branches, it was already past dusk, and the cool evening air made me shiver.

  I lifted the arm Noah wasn’t crushing and looked at my watch, and my heart almost leaped out of my chest. It was already seven o’clock.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” I pushed Noah off me and scrambled to my feet. He swore when his head hit the ground, and he rolled over, rubbing his eyes and looking momentarily confused.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I have to go. Jesus, I have to get the hell home.”

  “What time is it?” Noah asked drowsily.

  “It’s after seven. I’m a fucking dead man.”

  Noah struggled to his feet and rubbed some warmth into his bare arms. “What’s the problem, man?”

  “I have to get home. Now.” I turned and started running down the path toward the car. Noah caught up quickly, and I heard him behind me, swearing under his breath. When we’d scrambled up the embankment, I started to take off, but Noah grabbed my arm.

  “Get in the car, idiot. I’ll drive you.”

  I hesitated for a fraction of a second, before nodding agreement. It would take me twenty minutes, even running flat out. Noah could be there is less than five. I climbed in, practically humming with tension. It was Monday, which meant Dad had been in the house by himself all day. Mrs. Sweeney visited her sister every Monday like clockwork, and I always, always made it home straight from school.

  As Noah pulled up at a red light, I held my breath. I tried not to think of all the things that could have happened and ended up all but making a list in my head. By the time the light changed, my list was twenty-two potential life-destroying catastrophes long.

  I barely waited for Noah to stop the car before I was tumbling out onto the sidewalk. I mumbled a quick goodbye and took off, my heart pounding as I vaulted over the gate and ran up the path. The house was in total darkness when I unlocked the door.

  “Dad?”

  The absolute silence that wrapped around me turned my insides to jelly. I threw the light switch in the living room and gasped. Dad was lying huddled on the floor, his eyes wide-open, clearly terrified. It was like looking at a child who was scared of the dark. I ran over and skidded to my knees beside him.

  “Dad. Are you all right? Are you hurt?” I ran my hands gently along his limbs, searching for signs of broken bones. I couldn’t tell if he’d fallen or if he’d lain down himself for some reason that made sense in his troubled mind.

  He didn’t make a sound, which was almost as scary as his shouting.

  “Come on, Dad. Speak to me,” I begged.

  “Emmett?”

  My head shot around at the sound of Noah’s voice.

  “Help me get him up,” I begged.

  “Are you sure you should move him?” Noah said doubtfully.

  “Shit!” I hadn’t thought of that.

  “Emmett, let me call my mom. She’ll know what to do.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody look so surprised as I snatched his cell phone out of his hands.

  “You can’t, Noah. Please don’t argue with me. You just can’t.” My voice was sharp with panic, and Noah threw up his hands and muttered his agreement.

  I turned back to Dad, who was looking a shade less petrified. With my help, he managed to struggle into a sitting position.

  “Are you hurt, Dad?” I murmured, trying to get my shaking voice under control. “Did you fall?”

  “I needed the bathroom,” he said, his head swiveling left and right. When he turned an accusing look on me, my insides shriveled. “You weren’t here. I called for you, but you weren’t here.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “I’m here now. What do you need?”

  “I needed the bathroom,” he repeated. “I needed you.”

  Noah bent over and gently grabbed hold of Dad’s arm.

  “Who are you?” Dad looked at Noah and then turned his head sharply. “Who’s he? I don’t know him.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. This is Noah. He’s a friend.”

  Dad didn’t look convinced, and I dreaded what might come out of his mouth next. Thankfully he didn’t say anything else. We hauled him to his feet, ignoring his damp clothes and the stale smell that wafted up from them. I couldn’t stand to think how long he’d lain on the ground, cold and wet and alone.

  “What do you want me to do?” Noah asked as I steadied Dad on his shaky legs.

  “Clean clothes,” I said. “Top of the stairs. First door on the right.”

  I gently prodded and cajoled until I got Dad upstairs and into the bathroom, and when we finally made it, Noah was there, holding out the clothes he’d found in my dad’s bedroom.

  “Let me find something to eat while you clean him up,” Noah said.

  I nodded my thanks, and he turned and disappeared. It took longer than usual to calm Dad and get him cleaned up. I checked every inch to make sure he wasn’t injured or bruised. I almost threw up when I found his knees were badly skinned. I could imagine him crawling across the floor in the dark, bewildered and alone. If I thought I’d felt bad before, it was nothing compared to this.

  When Dad was finally cleaned up and wearing dry clothes, I led him back down into the kitchen. Noah had just dished up two bowls of hot soup, and he was stirring a pan of scrambled eggs.

  “I couldn’t find much,” he said apologetically. “I hope this is okay.”

  I got Dad settled at the table and then took the wooden spoon out of Noah’s hand. “I haven’t been able to get to the grocery store yet this week,” I mumbled.

  Now that the adrenaline rush was receding, I felt the scorch of embarrassment flood my system and burn my cheeks. It was easy to see the place through Noah’s eyes: the grease-spattered kitchen, the empty cupboards, a fridge that hadn’t been full since Mom lived here. The sour stink of dried urine that no amount of bleach could shift, the tattered furniture with stuffing sticking out of sagging cushions.

  “You should probably go,” I said. “Thanks for your help, but I’ve got it from here.”

  I gave the eggs a halfhearted stir, a good excuse to turn my back so I didn’t have to look at Noah trying to hide his shock.

  “If you’re sure….”

  He was already backing out the door. Who could blame him? My life was a fucking disaster.

  “Yeah. Look, thanks, Noah. Really appreciate your help.”

  “It’s fine,” Noah said quickly. “I’ll see you at school.”

  I turned just before he walked out. “Listen, man. Do me a favor? Don’t say anything about this to anybody. It’s kind of complicated….”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Noah said. “Good night, Mr. Callaghan.”

  Dad didn’t even lift his head. He was so intent on slurping his soup, I don’t think he even knew Noah was here.

  “Later, Emmett.”

  “Yeah.”

  I heard the door close quietly behind him, and I felt such a mix of emotions, I wasn’t sure I could separate them, let alone figure out what each meant. But I didn’t have time to dwell on what Noah Davis thought about my fucked-up life.

  “You okay, Dad?” I spooned scrambled eggs onto a plate and set it in front of him.

  He grunted and pushe
d aside his bowl. His clean shirt was spattered with tomato soup, and his lips were stained an unnatural red. He dug into the scrambled eggs as though he hadn’t eaten in days, and my gut clenched at the thought that he’d probably skipped lunch and was practically starving.

  “Who was that boy?” I was startled by the normality of the question.

  “Just a friend.”

  “Noah.” He sounded tentative, as though he was testing the word to see if it felt right.

  “That’s right, Dad. Noah.”

  His gaze slid sideways and fixed on my face. “Just a friend.” It was impossible to tell if he was just parroting the words or if there was some subtle meaning I wasn’t picking up on.

  When he finished, I guided him to his favorite chair in front of the TV and tuned in an old western. He patted the seat beside him, and I sat down. My heart had finally stopped banging against my chest, and I felt drained of everything but gratitude. He hadn’t fallen over or wandered off; he hadn’t electrocuted himself or cut himself on any of the kitchen knives; he hadn’t drowned in the toilet bowl or slipped in the bathtub. He hadn’t done any of the hundred-and-one things that had torn my brain apart.

  I realized I had to do better. I couldn’t let this happen ever again. Sometimes he was an unbearable asshole. Sometimes he was as helpless as a child.

  Either way, he was my responsibility.

  IT TOOK real effort to walk out of the house the next day and leave him by himself again. The only thing that made it tolerable was that Mrs. Sweeney would be here at least twice before I came home.

  I made sure Dad had eaten breakfast, and I dabbed antiseptic cream on his scraped knees. I made him his lunch and put an extra bottle of water beside his chair. I found a game on TV and left a note for Mrs. Sweeney. And with a final goodbye, I dragged myself out the door.

  Noah was leaning up against his parked Jeep, his arms folded across his chest. My knees buckled when he straightened up, looked me directly in the eye and said, “What can I do to help?”

  Chapter Eleven

  EVERY STREET we drove farther away from my house was a small improvement over the one before. The houses were that little bit larger and well kept, the cars parked outside became less rusted out, and the people milling about looked a little less harried and exhausted. By the time we’d driven for five minutes, we were back in Noah’s comfort zone.

  “How long has he been like that?” Noah asked.

  I examined the tone for any sign of judgment, but it seemed like a pretty genuine question. “About eight months.”

  “Since your brother died?”

  “I think that’s just a coincidence,” I said. “I mean, hearing Jamie had been killed didn’t help things, that’s for sure. But I think he was already slipping away before that.”

  “And your mom?”

  I turned my head and looked at the passing scenery. Or pretended to. I didn’t want to watch Noah’s face and see anything like pity written there. “She left a few months ago. She couldn’t stand the heat, so she fucked off out of the kitchen, the house, the goddamned country for all I know.”

  The air suddenly seemed supercharged. I was pretty sure I wasn’t putting out any kind of different vibe, so I figured it was Noah.

  “And you’ve handled it by yourself since then?”

  “I have help,” I protested, knowing I sounded defensive. “My neighbor comes in almost every day to check up on Dad. You caught us at a bad time. Monday’s the only day she can’t make it. I shouldn’t have left him alone for so long. He’d have been fine otherwise….” I had to stop myself babbling inanely. I needed to broach something a lot more serious. “Did you tell anybody?”

  Noah took his eyes off the road momentarily to throw me an exasperated look. “I said I wouldn’t.” His voice became softer when he added, “That’s why you quit the team. And why you cut everybody out of your life. It must be so hard—”

  “I’ve got it all under control,” I said quickly. “We’re managing. As soon as I turn eighteen, I’ll let social services know what’s going on. I’ll be able to get some help, and they won’t drag him off God knows where.”

  “Don’t you think he’d be better off getting proper professional help?” Noah asked.

  I shook my head firmly. “You don’t understand. If they take my dad away, I don’t know what the fuck will happen to me. He’s all I’ve got. And I’m the only thing left to him.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how selfish I sounded. But I couldn’t take it back now. Besides, it was true. Without me, Dad would be carted off. Without him, I’d be screwed.

  We reached school without my noticing, and Noah steered us into the parking lot and cut the engine. He turned and looked at me, his expression serious. “Look, Emmett. Why don’t you let me talk to my parents? They could—”

  “No!” I hadn’t meant to snap, but he was pushing some serious buttons. I pulled in a breath and tried to get my shit together. “Please, Noah. I know you mean well, I really do. And I’m sure your parents are amazing. But I can’t risk anybody finding out. I’m a minor for another year. But the minute I’m old enough, I’ll get help.” I ran a hand through my hair, feeling frustration and fear twist my gut. “This is the best thing for both of us right now. Please don’t fuck it up for me.”

  Noah looked away, clearly trying to see this from my point of view. My stomach was churning so badly. I didn’t know what I’d do if he refused to play along. In the end he shook his head and sighed.

  “Okay, Emmett. I’ll keep your secret. I wish you’d trust me. Trust my family. But I can see that’s hard for you.” He reached out and clasped my hand. “Let me know what you need from me. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  The breath left me in a rush of relief. “Thanks, man,” I murmured.

  Noah squeezed my hand and then let go. “How are you fixed for money?”

  If it had been anybody else but Noah, I’d have bitten his head off. But I forced myself to see his offer for what it was: genuine, honest concern.

  “We’re fine,” I said. And though I might recognize his sincerity, it didn’t mean I liked being seen as a charity case. If you didn’t have your totally fucking misplaced pride, what did you have? “Just so we have it straight, I’ll never take your money. Try to make me into a pity project, and this will be over before it begins.”

  Noah’s eyes widened. “Stubborn, rude, and stupid. A really winning combination,” he said dryly.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “I hear you. Loud and clear.”

  He turned around to face forward, and the atmosphere grew awkward and tense all over again. I wasn’t used to depending on anybody except Mrs. Sweeney. I realized I was behaving like a dick, but it was hard to let my guard down after so many months of hiding behind a wall of deception.

  “My mom sends money,” I said, my insides shriveling as the words came out of my mouth. “It isn’t a lot, but we get by.”

  Noah turned back, the expression on his face unreadable. I dreaded what he would say next, but when he spoke, his voice sounded perfectly normal. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. I’ll never repeat these words again, but this offer will always stand. Ask me for anything. Anything. If it’s legal, if it’s possible, it’s yours.”

  And that was it. As simply as that, with no drama, no fuss, no strings, Noah Davis threw me a lifeline.

  THE NEXT couple of days were like living in a dream. Every morning Noah was parked outside the house, and every afternoon when he didn’t have football practice, he drove me home from school. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t push. He was just there for me. I felt my body unclench inch by inch, shocked at how tightly wound I’d been.

  At the end of the week, still unable to believe it, I asked him how he managed it. “Don’t you have to drive your sister to school and back?”

  Noah shrugged. “In the morning I drop her at school early and then drive here to pick you up. And she bums a ride with friends
or jumps on the bus after school.”

  I was aghast. “Noah, you can’t! It isn’t fair to her—”

  “She’s fine with it,” Noah cut in. “She’s going to have to get used to making her own way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll be working,” Noah replied.

  I looked at him blankly, as though he’d spoken a foreign language. “Working?” I repeated.

  He arched an eyebrow. “As in rocking the counter at the Bloor Street Diner.”

  “Working? To earn money?”

  “No. Working for the sheer joy of serving the public,” he said sarcastically. “Of course working for money, you jackass. What else?”

  I shook my head incredulously. My brain couldn’t process the words. Not out of the mouth of somebody who lived north of the tracks. “But you’re rich.”

  He flicked my forehead. “My dad’s rich. My mom’s rich. I have exactly twelve dollars and twenty-nine cents in my pocket.”

  My eyes widened. “They don’t give you an allowance?”

  Noah frowned. “Why should they? I’m perfectly capable of earning my own money.”

  “So are all the other rich assholes, but you never see them break a sweat outside the football field.”

  Noah grinned. “Well, this rich asshole is different.”

  I was beginning to understand that. Noah wasn’t like anybody I’d met before, rich or poor. He definitely traveled his own path.

  “I guess a job isn’t in the cards for you,” he said, suddenly sobering.

  I shrugged. “I used to wash dishes at a diner down on Henry Street. But I had to give it up. I couldn’t leave my dad alone all day and then ditch him at night too. It made him… cranky.”

  If Noah read the subtext, he was smart enough to let it lie. “I’m working Tuesdays and Wednesdays after school starting next week. If you come by, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  “It’s a date,” I said, my lips curling into a smile at the beauty of the simple words.