by Brooke Moss
The Art
of
Being Indifferent
The Twisted Family Tree Series, book 1
Copyright© by Brooke Moss
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and used fictitiously. They are not to be misconstrued as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form, or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.For inquiries, please contact the Brooke Moss, at www.brookemoss.com.
Cover art by: Brooke Moss
Edited by: Meggan Connors, www.megganconnors.com
Published by: Brooke Moss, CHP
ISBN ebook: 978-1-939976-03-1
ISBN print: 978-1-939976-04-8
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: iPod; McDonalds; Disneyland; BMW; University of Washington; Udub; TicTacs; Speedo; Miller High Life; Disney Channel; United Colors of Benetton; Goodwill Store; Microsoft; Facebook; UPS; The Ring; The Lord of the Rings; Burger King; Twitter; Chuck Taylors; Dancing With the Stars; Norman Rockwell; Barbie; Mountain Dew; Nick-at-Night; Proactive; iPhone; Sharpie; Tupperware; Dixie Cup; Camel; Mary Poppins; 7-11; El Camino;Mariners; Denny’s; and Mercedes.
For my Liyah.
“Sometimes I wish I were a little kid again, skinned knees are easier to fix than broken hearts.”
~Author Unknown
Prologue
Her.
(Seven years ago)
Mom’s hand shook when she put the cigarette to her mouth and sucked in a pull of the toxic waste.
“I’ll get you on Monday, Po.” Her voice wavered. “Do you hear? I’ll come for you in three days. Four, max.” Smoke oozed out from between her teeth, then curled around her nose and cheekbones before disappearing into her hair.
Mom wasn’t yet twenty six, younger than most of the other moms we knew—mostly because she had me two days after her sixteenth birthday—but she was already getting wrinkles around her eyes and lips. Probably because she smoked so much. And man, she smoked a lot. Things that smelled gross, things that burned the inside of my nose, things that smelled sweet. Things that made her chill, things that made her tweak out, things that made her pick at her skin until she bled.
“So we’ll meet at my office at eight o’clock on Monday morning. Okay?” The social worker frowned at Mom, who was rocking back and forth in place. The sound of the neighbors screaming cuss words at each other rained down from upstairs while we waited. “Do you understand me, Celeste? Will you remember?”
“Hell yes, I’ll remember,” she snapped. “I’m not stupid, you know.”
I swallowed the lump growing in my throat. There was no way my mom would get to that appointment without me reminding her. I couldn’t depend on Mom to remember anything important, like when my school conferences were or that we needed to eat before bedtime.
But when it came to taking her medicines or smoking her cigarettes, it was like she had a built in timer inside of her head. Too much time between trips to the bathroom or parking garage, and she would start to wiggle and twitch like a little kid who had to pee. That was embarrassing. And made me worry.
I hated worrying. But I worried all the time.
Where was Mom? Was she coming home tonight? Would Doug be with her? Or would it be Tony this time? If it was Tony, would he leave me alone or wake me up at night? Would they get high? If so, would mom break the windows and get us kicked out again? Would she be sober in the morning? And if so, would she get mad and smack Rory again?
Sometimes the worrying gave me a stomachache.
I rubbed my tummy as the social worker explained to Mom what to do next. Mom bounced on the balls of her feet as the guy talked and tugged at her hair until fistfuls of bleached strands stuck in between her fingers. I was going to have a major stomachache tonight. I knew that much already, and we’d not been carted away in the social worker’s car yet.
I’d been through it before. Rory and Julian hadn’t. I wasn’t sure how they’d react, but I expected the worst. The social worker would probably get bit, and I wasn’t about to stop my brother from doing it. Served him right for taking us away from Mom. Taking us away wouldn’t keep her from doing drugs, it would just make things worse. That’s what happened last time.
“Po, are you ready?”
I blinked to clear my thoughts. The social worker smiled and held his hand out to me, like we were going to the park or something. What a jerk. Why was he calling me my nickname? Didn’t he know only my mom called me that?
I pretended I hadn’t heard him.
“Posey?” This time he touched my shoulder. “Are you ready to go now?”
I jerked away from his touch. “What?”
He took my hand, even though I held it behind my back. “We have to go for a ride,” he said. “Can you help me get your brothers into the car?”
My kid brothers clung to Mom’s skinny legs. They looked completely freaked out, and who could blame them? They were only two and three. “I dunno,” I mumbled, focusing my stare on Julian’s shirt. I’d put him in it two days ago, and there was a peanut butter stain on his belly.
My mom’s face crumpled, and she started to cry. “You help your brothers, Po. Be a good girl, so they won’t get scared.”
Scowling, I bit the insides of my cheeks. What about me? What if I was scared? I mean, sure, I was ten, so I needed to be a big girl. But what if I wanted to grab onto Mom’s legs? She reached down and brushed Rory’s hair back from his forehead, and for a second I wanted to cut off all of his brown curls so she would touch my hair instead.
Shame scalded my cheeks, and I glared down at the floor. Rory didn’t make Mom not care about me. It was my fault. I always acted like a grown up, and took care of her. It’s no wonder she looked sad.
“Mom, don’t cry,” I said, my voice cracking. She sniffled, and I used my free hand to tug Julian off her stained pants leg. “I’ll take care of the boys. I promise.”
“You have to, Po,” she wept, her mascara leaving tracks on her cheeks. “You… you stay with them. Promise me.”
I nodded. “Okay, Mom.”
“Atta girl.” The social worker gave me a gentle push towards the door. “Celeste, why don’t you give your kids a kiss?”
My mom choked on her cries, a clear drip rolling from her nostril as she kissed each of the boy’s heads. I waited for her kiss me, silently pleading for her to press her cheek to mine, or wrap her bony arms around me. But instead she just jammed her thumb in her mouth and started to gnaw on her nail, not looking at me.
It felt like I’d been punched in the stomach, and I hunched forward as the social worker led us to the cracked apartment door. I shouldn’t have told my teacher I didn’t have lunch to eat. I should have shut up and gone back to my math, and pretended my stomach hadn’t growled. And that stupid cow should have kept her mouth shut. She could have kept what I told her to herself and none of this would be happening. I hated my teacher, and I hated myself even more.
When the icy wind from outside the apartment whipped us in the face, Rory wriggled away and ran back to mom. He hit her hard, knocking her backwards onto the stained carpet. Mom’s wails became louder, her cries inviting all the neighbors to come out to t
he parking lot and stare. Hot, angry tears rolled down my face, leaving damp trails that the cold air immediately chilled.
I held Julian’s hand tightly, his whimpering cries getting swept away in the wind while we marched to the parking lot. Refusing to look any of my neighbors in the eye, I prayed inside of my head.
Please let Mom say goodbye to me, too. Please let her cry for me, too.
But she just yelled the boy’s names again and again while the social worker gathered up our things. We got into the car in silence, Rory and Julian strapped into car seats for the first time since they were brand new, and me in between them, holding each of their trembling hands. Like always. Whenever they were sick, they came to me to hold them while they slept. When they fell on the pavement outside our apartment, they came to me for Band-Aids.
“Okay, gang. How about some music?” The social worker smiled at us through his rear view mirror and buckled his seatbelt. “Should we go get some French fries?”
I rubbed my growling stomach. I was hungry and had been for days. He talked to us like we were going to Disneyland or something, instead of being moved to a foster home. He kept calling it a place where some “new friends would look after” us, but I knew better than to consider it a slumber party. Try a bunch of strangers yelling at us and pretending to be our mom and dad.
“I don’t want to go,” I said, my voice small. I wanted to run. I wanted to throw open the car door, bounce along the side of the road, and then hide in the alley behind the apartments. Anything but go to the foster home. But I couldn’t leave Julian and Rory. If I left them, they would be scared.
“I know you don’t, kiddo.” The social worker turned the car out of the parking lot, and we sped up. “This is just until your mom can get some help. I think you’ll like the foster home. They have a puppy, and…”
I tuned his voice out and looked through the back window of the car, craning my neck to catch a view of my mom. I expected to see her chasing the car, screaming my name and waving her hands in the air. Mom was a lot of things, but calm wasn’t one of them. She wouldn’t take this well. Not one bit…
But when I scanned the parking lot for my sobbing mother, my heart dropped. She wasn’t running after us. She wasn’t even crying anymore. There she stood in the open doorway of our messy apartment, smoking with the guy from next door, a coy smile on her face while he pressed up against her. Just as they tumbled inside and slammed the door, we turned a corner, and the apartment complex disappeared out of sight. My stomach lurched in response.
She didn’t care.
Chapter One
Him.
My father stood up, slipped his hands into his pockets, and sauntered to the edge of the pool. Though his stride was casual, and he nodded at my coach and the other swimmers politely, I knew it was phony. The muscles in his jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on me.
“Shit,” I panted as he approached. Resting my head on my hands, I squeezed the metal rung of the ladder until my knuckles popped. My time was off. I’d known it halfway through the heat but couldn’t get that half-second back, no matter how hard I turned it out. My shoulders and arms were on fire, and I was still going to get my ass chewed.
Dad stopped walking just half an inch away from my bowed head. When I raised my eyes, I saw my reflection in the shine on his shoes. The three hundred dollar loafers my mom bought him. She’d threatened to throttle him if he wore them to the pool. But then, my dad didn’t often respect my mom’s requests. Or anyone else’s for that matter. Coach told Dad he couldn’t come to evening practices again after the last time, but sure enough… here he stood.
“Andrew?”
It’s Drew now.
I raised my head and set my jaw, ready for battle. “Sir?”
I’d been calling him sir since third grade. At first my mom thought it was unnecessary and harsh, and it made her cry. But now we’re used to it. Dad said it showed respect and built character. I think it made him look like an A-hole.
“What’s your handicap today?” he asked, jingling the BMW keys in his pocket.
I slid my hand down my face, wiping the chlorinated water from my eyes. “What do you mean?”
Steely eyes glared down at me. Curtis Baxter didn’t appreciate it when I acted clueless. Not that I did it often, or even expected it to work.
Dad’s voice lowered so that Coach wouldn’t hear. “Try again, Andrew.” He didn’t like other people to know what a jerk off he was, though the joke was on him. Most of our tiny town already did.
I sighed, sending droplets of water flying. “I have a headache,” I lied, avoiding his heavy gaze. “And Mac needed a ride home after school, so I ran him to his dad’s place. I didn’t get back here until heats were starting.”
I wondered for a second if he might let it go. I’d been friends with Mac Carver since the fourth grade, and I owed him gas money anyway, so I drove him home instead of letting him walk eight miles in the rain.
But Dad hated Mac and took every opportunity to say so. It didn’t matter that he was the police chief’s son, and that my mayor dad and Chief Carver worked together every day. The only thing that mattered to Dad was that Mac distracted me from practices, and if I didn’t focus, I wasn’t going to get into the University of Washington. And if I didn’t get into U-Dub to follow in my former athletic star father’s footsteps, I was an epic failure for the Baxter family. To quote the big man himself, Baxter’s are never failures. Do you hear me, boy?
Asshole.
Finally, Dad pressed his lips together, so tight they formed a line across his face. Rocking back on his heels, he hissed down at me, “Get out of the pool.”
Throwing a glance at coach, who watched us with pointed interest, I pulled myself out of the water and stood dripping onto the tile floor. Shoulders back, head up, just the way the old man liked it. Baxters didn’t shuffle around with their heads down, either. Betcha didn’t know that, either.
“Follow.” Dad strode towards the locker rooms, and I obeyed his command. I didn’t have any other choice. I either took it in hallway or out in front of everyone. The last thing I needed was for the guys to watch me getting my ass chewed. It was hard enough facing Coach after it happened. Last time he called Dad, and that resulted in Coach being threatened within half an inch of unemployment. That’s what happened when your dad was the richest guy in town, and who had bought his way into the mayoral position by building the town a new library.
Now everyone from our newspaper boy to the principal of my high school was terrified to tick my dad off. Usually I enjoyed never getting grades below a B, but the older I got, the more I wanted people to be straight with me. If I sucked at something, I wished they’d tell me so instead of fearing the wrath of Mayor Baxter coming down on their heads.
The hall was empty, except for the flickering neon light from the fixtures above. The sound of the bulbs buzzing filled my ears as Dad clenched and unclenched his fists. I decided to speak first… a colossal mistake. It never went well when I didn’t just take what was coming to me.
“Dad, I—”
In a millisecond, he stood so close to my face that my back was pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. His breath smelled like expensive cigars and spearmint Tic Tacs, and the look in his eyes was enough to make me want to crap in my Speedo.
When Dad got mad, you could actually see the anger billowing in his pupils like clouds getting tossed around by the wind in a storm. It freaked me out to watch him morph from the slick suit wearing defense attorney to a rage-a-holic missing only his Miller High Life and a wife beater. What sucked is that I still had nine months of this garbage to put up with before I graduated and got as far away from him as humanly possible.
Dad lowered his voice to a deadly growl and jabbed his finger into my bare chest. “Listen here, you little piss ant. If you think for a second you’re going to throw away your swim career for some white trash friend, you’ve got another thing coming.”
I opened m
y mouth, but quickly clamped it shut. It never helped to talk back. Nobody talked back to Curtis Baxter.
“Yeah, you better shut up,” he snapped. Our noses a mere half-inch apart, I wondered if it bugged him that I stood as tall as he was now. “If you blow this, Andrew, so help me, you’ll wish you were never born. Do you understand me?”
I already do. Glancing over my father’s shoulder, I saw Coach in the doorway to the hallway. The pool had gone silent, and my dad’s voice was echoing for the whole team to hear now.
Awesome. This day just got better and better.
First I’d been forced to break up with Maddie before school started three weeks ago, and now I was getting torn a new one. Everyone at school was in shock. Guys didn’t just break up with Maddie Mulcahey. She usually chose whom she wanted to pursue, then chose when it ended. It wasn’t fair, but it worked, and I’d been glad she’d set her sights on me at the end of our junior year.
Sick body, long blonde hair and questionable morals, despite being the pastor of the Presbyterian Church’s kid? It was a win-win for me, and I’d been hoping to enjoy the ride clear until prom. Once we graduated? I had no idea what would happen after that. But for now, Maddie was the one glimmer of hope amongst my crap life. A few minutes of bliss amongst the practices, drills, weight schedules, physical therapy appointments, and ultra tense Baxter family meals that usually consisted of my dad reminding me what was expected of me, and my mom drowning her sorrows in zinfandel.
Now, at the beginning of my senior year, he’d made me break up with her. Dump her, or I’ll do it for you, Andrew. I’m not going to let some little girl turn up pregnant and ruin my kid’s chance at excellence. Do you understand me?
I fought him at first, refusing to do it, and just lying when I got home at night. Then my parents caught me hooking up with Maddie in my car after practice on day, and that was that. Either I told her it was over, or my dad would introduce himself to Pastor Mulcahey as the father of the guy boning his daughter.
