by TJ Klune
I feel a protective hand on my shoulder and realize it’s Otter. I tear myself away from my mom for a moment and glance at him. His face is tense, his eyes hard. He’s glaring at my mother and not doing anything to hide it. He feels my eyes on him and turns to me and squeezes my shoulder again, his eyes shifting from anger to hold us, me and Ty, in the same regard he always does. It’s almost enough to knock the drowning fear out of me. Almost. His eyes grow cold again as he glances back at my mom. She looks between us nervously and attempts another smile and fails miserably.
Mrs. Paquinn coughs behind me, and I hear her wheeze as she rises from her chair. “Bear, would you walk an old lady to the door?” she says quietly. I nod and kiss the Kid’s head and hand him over to Otter, whose arms are already waiting. As soon as Ty transfers to him, the Kid curls up against his chest, and Otter leans down and whispers calming words into his ear. His eyes are a contradiction from his words, like soft steel.
Mrs. Paquinn waits for me at the entryway. As I walk up to her, she speaks to Mom: “It was… interesting to see you again, Julie,” she says, her voice flat. “I hope you know that Bear has raised a pretty amazing child.”
My mother nods but doesn’t speak.
I follow Mrs. Paquinn out the door and close it gently behind me. She turns to face me, as if expecting my barrage of questions.
“What the hell is she doing here?” I demand. “When did she show up?”
Mrs. Paquinn shudders and leans against the door. “She got here a couple of hours ago,” she says, her voice wavering. “There was a knock at the door, and Ty ran to get it, thinking it was you and that Otter boy. He came back in, just white-faced, and she was following behind him, smiling up a storm. At first I didn’t recognize her, but then she opened her mouth, and I knew who she was immediately. Tyson and I both tried to call you.” She says this last part with no accusation in her voice, which makes me love her even more.
“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear my phone at all.” I shake my head. “What is she doing here, Mrs. Paquinn? Did she say?”
She tilts her head back and closes her eyes. “She didn’t say a whole lot, Bear, to be honest. She said that she came back to see how her boys were doing. She kept trying to get Tyson to talk to her, but when that boy wasn’t on the phone trying to call you, he was huddled up against me.” She opens her eyes and looks at me. “Whatever she’s here for, it can’t be good,” she tells me. “No mother takes off for three goddamn years and leaves her children and then comes back without wanting something.”
“Shit,” I mutter. I can’t focus as it seems every thought I’ve ever had in my life is now racing through my head. My hands are sweaty and my knees feel weak. I want to run inside and get Otter and the Kid and get the hell out of here. Mrs. Paquinn’s words add to the mess in my head.
She takes my hand in hers and brings it to her dusty lips. “Bear, you need anything, anything, you know where I’m at. I may not be all that quick anymore, but I’ve looked after that boy for a long time now, and I know how to protect those I love.” I take her in my arms, and I hear a soft exhale of surprise, but she welcomes me gladly, her arms stronger than I thought they would be. She lets me go after a time, and without another word, wobbles over to her door and goes inside.
No mother takes off for three goddamn years and leaves her children and then comes back without wanting something.
I go back inside. As soon as I get to the living room, my mother stands expectantly. I see that Otter has taken the Kid out of the room, and I walk past my mom without saying a word and I hear her sigh as she sits back down. Fuck her. She can wait. My guys are not in the kitchen so I head down the hallway and see our bedroom door is shut and the light on. I try the handle, but the door is locked
“Who is it?” Otter asks gruffly.
“It’s me,” I say quietly and hear the click of the lock, and the door opens. I look into the room, and the Kid is sitting on his bed, his back pressed against the wall. Otter closes the door and locks it again and pulls me over to the bed, where the Kid is, and gathers both of us in his arms and rocks us gently. He kisses the tops of our heads, and the Kid’s eyes are still wide and shocked, and I feel the first great wave of anger begin to wash over me. Otter feels me tense under his hands and begins to rub my back.
How the hell can she be here? After ditching her family for some fucking guy, how does she have the nerve to even show her face to us again, much less breathe the air in the same zip code? Bile rises, hot and bitter, but I’m able to choke it back down where it slides greasily in my stomach. Three years is a long time to let anger and hatred for someone fester, and to be honest, I thought I had gotten over the majority of it. Yes, it sucked horribly when she left, and I was doubting myself and everyone around me and wondering how in God’s name I was going to provide for a child when I was still a child myself. I had days where I alternately cursed her name and then begged God to make her come home. Over time it dulled into a low ache that I always carried with me but became strangely adept at ignoring.
Now she’s back, and it’s like the sore split open and started oozing all over again. But this time it’s accompanied by something else, something much darker. I try to focus on it, not completely understanding what it is. The best way I can think to describe it is that I’m offended, offended that she’s here, offended that she could ever think to show her face again. I don’t think I’m necessarily upset at the idea of her actually being here, but more so the fact that she thinks she can just show up like this, out of the blue, like nothing has ever happened. Like the last three fucking years never happened. Like I never came home that one day to find a note from our coward of a mother, saying she’s sorry, but that she has to go, that Tom sez she can get a job and that I was always a happy baby and that she had left me $137.50 out my bank account, $137.50 of my money that was supposed to be for school, but why did I need school to be a writer? Three years of fear, anger, scrimping, sadness, loneliness, three years of feeling lost, like I had been abandoned and forced into a position I was not capable of doing. The bitterness swells within me, and I squeeze my boys tighter.
“We need to call Creed,” Otter says sometime later. “Have him come pick up the Kid.”
I nod. “That sounds good to—”
“No,” the Kid hisses, startling us both. I push away from Otter to get a good like at his face and have to stop myself from pushing him away as he’s obviously livid. His eyes flash as his mouth twists into a sneer, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen this expression on him. Anger wells up in me again (did it ever really go away?), and I want nothing more than to knock down the bedroom door and drag her sorry ass out of our house and knock her down the stairs. I want to hear her bones break as she cries out when she lands. I want to break something so very badly, and it might as well be her.
“Ty,” I say, doing nothing to keep the vileness out of my voice. “Ty, I don’t want you to be here for this. She has no right to see you.”
“I don’t care,” he growls. “I’m not leaving with Creed.”
I look to Otter for help. He’s staring down at Ty with an almost matching look of anger. I almost want my mother to walk in right now, to see all of us how we are now, to feel the full brunt of our wrath. I want her to shrink away and leave with her tail between her legs and beg our forgiveness as she walks out of our lives forever. She doesn’t deserve to be here. She doesn’t deserve to get to come in and ruin the uneasy stability that we have only just achieved after so long. It’s not fair.
“Otter,” I start.
“No, Bear,” he says, almost with the same vehemence as the Kid. “I know what you’re going to ask, and my answer is no. I’m not going to take the Kid away from here and leave you alone with her.” He looks up at me, and his eyes are hard and blazing, but in more control than either the Kid or myself. “I’ve unknowingly spent the last three years wanting you back and now that I have you, I’m not going to let you face this by yourself. I love you too
much for that.” He pauses, considering. Then he reaches up and squeezes the Kid against him again. “I love you both too much for that.”
“You can’t make me leave, Bear,” Ty says, his voice like knives. “You can’t make us leave. I don’t want to see her, but I’m not going away now, either. You can try, but I bet Otter and I can take you down.”
I grin sickly and my boys do the same. “What did she say to you, Kid?” I ask softly. “What was she talking about before I got here?”
Ty shakes his head. “She kept asking me about school and who my friends are and stuff.” He paws furiously at his eyes, wiping the tears away. “She asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. She asked about you too. A lot. She wanted to know where you worked and who you were hanging out with. She asked how long Otter had been back and if he ever hung out here.”
What the hell is she doing? I think. What game is she trying to play?
Careful, Bear, it whispers. Obviously something’s not right here, so you need to watch yourself.
“Is that all?” I say to the Kid.
He nods. “I didn’t answer too much.” He shrugs. “I didn’t think it was any of her goddamn business what we’re doing now. She doesn’t get to know.”
He’s right, and I know he’s my brother because he’s thinking the same exact thing I am. My heart breaks a little then for the Kid, having to face this kind of obstacle at his age. I groan inwardly at the thought of what this is going to do to him in the long run. I silently curse her again, knowing she’s unraveling everything we’ve worked for, everything we’ve done to finally put ourselves ahead. Pushing her down the stairs suddenly sounds like a good idea again. At least then we’d be rid of her for good.
I stand, as ready as I’m ever going to be. The weight of the world crashes down on my shoulder again and a wave of dizziness crawls over my eyes, and they blur and flash, and I reach my hand out, to steady myself on something, anything. I’m not too surprised when I feel Otter’s arm under my shoulder as he moves to embrace me. I hug him fiercely, putting everything I can into it so he knows just how I feel. He seems to understand as he grips me tightly as well, and I feel crushed, in a good way. I want him to keep clutching me, to force out all of the horror that’s wringing its way through my body. He pulls away and kisses my forehead and turns to pick up the Kid. Ty rests his head on Otter’s shoulders, and his arms hang limply at his sides.
“I hope you don’t expect me to keep quiet if she pisses you or me off,” Otter says as I reach to unlock the door.
“Me either,” Ty chimes in.
I chuckle bitterly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from my guys,” I tell them, and then I open the door.
Nor I, the voice says as we walk that long walk down the hallway.
As we’re walking that short ten feet back to the living room, time slows down and almost stops. It has to for me to be able to focus on everything that’s on my mind. Oh God, I don’t want to remember these things. I don’t want to think about them, but I can’t stop, and as I take another step toward a fucking cold inevitability, I sink lower and lower into the waves and then and then….
And then—
It’s my fifth birthday and Mom has forgotten and decides to get drunk at ten in the morning with some guy whose name I don’t know. Her eyes are glassy as they run over me, watching me sit at the kitchen table with them, knowing, just knowing that soon she’s going to yell surprise and there will be cake and balloons and presents. She pours herself and Unknown Guy another shot and they toast each other, and then they raise the glasses to me and knock them back and got ready for another. They are both passed out by noon, and I spend the rest of the day in my room, reading to myself and feeling an early tremor.
And then—
I’m eleven now, and begging my mom to let me go to Creed’s house to spend the night again. She’s been cooped up in the apartment for the last three weeks, a strange and scary bout of depression circling over her head. She doesn’t shower, she doesn’t eat. She stays locked in her bedroom and only leaves to buy cigarettes and bourbon before she’s back in her cave. I’m under specific instructions to go to school and then come right home, because, she says, what if she needs me? What if something was to happen to her, and I wasn’t there to help her? Some days, I don’t even get to go to school. But today, Creed has invited me over to his house because Otter is coming home for a break. “Otter’s going to be there,” I plead with her. “You have to let me go!” She stares at me, and for a moment, I think she’s forgotten who I am, and I dare to hope that she has. That shatters as vague recognition encroaches her face, and she shakes her head. “I said no, Der,” she tells me. “What if I needed you? Something could happen to me, and you wouldn’t be here.” She takes another long drag of her smoke that’s dangling from her lips. “Something could happen to me,” she says again, and I can see that she’s gone as she stares out the kitchen window, and I leave the room so I can break down in solitude.
And then—
I’m twelve now and she comes in my room without knocking. I quickly shove the paper I’m writing on and feel my face grow hot. I’m writing a letter to Otter, asking him if when he graduates from college and I graduate from high school, if I could come live with him. It’s a letter I know I will never send as there are dozens more just like it hidden underneath my mattress. She looks around the room and finally sits at the edge of the bed and hangs her head down, playing with her hands. “Derrick, we’ve got a situation here,” she says. “I don’t know how the hell this happened.” I don’t answer, hoping she’ll take the hint and go away so I can get back to my letter. I’m hoping she’ll leave me alone so I can imagine what it would be like to be all grown up and for Otter and me to have our own house, and we could do whatever we wanted and there would be no one to tell us no. She doesn’t get it. “Derrick,” she sighs, “I think I’m pregnant.” When she says this, I feel the ceiling come crashing down, and I squint my eyes shut, praying to Whoever will listen to take her away. To make her leave me alone. Or, at the very least, to be utterly and completely wrong about what she just told me. I don’t know what to say to her, and seven months later, I have a little brother and all those letters go unsent.
I’m thirteen and I’m Bear from then on.
I’m fifteen, and she leaves for three days without telling me where she’s going.
I’m almost seventeen when she mentions someone named Tom.
And then—
I’m about to graduate high school now, and I come home one night from work. There’s no one here, and I try not to panic, and that’s when I see it, the three-page letter sitting on the table, full of misspelled words and broken promises. There’s a moment, a crystal-clear moment of pure clarity, and it’s the closest I have ever been to insanity in my life. I feel myself becoming unhinged and start to break, and the tremors turn into shockwaves, and I clutch the paper in my hands, and the magnitude is like something I’ve never known. It’s brought on by words, words like “I know this is going to be hard for yu to read” and “I have to leave.” I slam a picture into the wall, breaking it against my hand and hear, “Tom sez that Ty can’t go” and “I am going to leave him here with yu.” I bleed, and all I can think of is how she finished it, how she ended it all: “Please don’t try looking for me. Mom.” I scream.
I’m eight and picking up empty beer cans.
I’m six and fall down, and she won’t kiss the scrape because it’s gross.
I’m nine, and she says she can’t go to Parent Night at my school.
I’m twelve, and she brings home a baby.
I’m fourteen, and she brings home some guy I’ve never seen before.
I’m seventeen, and she leaves.
I’m twenty-one, and she comes back.
WE WALK into the living room, and we see she’s moved from the couch to stare at the pictures that I have put up on the wall. Most of them are done by Otter, and they show Anna, Creed, the Kid, and I in various stages of life
. There’s some with just one of us, there’s some with all of us. But the one she’s focused on now gives me pause: it’s one the Kid had taken a few weeks ago. In it, Otter and I are on the beach, the sun is setting behind us, and Otter has his arm around my shoulder and his face looking directly at the camera, a smile to light up the whole world adorning his face. I’m smiling just as big, but my focus is on him. Much is said in my face in that frozen moment, and I get nervous anytime Creed comes over, almost to the point where I want to take it down. But I haven’t and I won’t. She hears us come back into the room and turns to face us.
Otter takes the Kid and sits down on the couch, and the Kid positions himself with his back to Otter’s chest, his little legs in the middle of Otter’s big ones. Otter rests his chin on Ty’s head and pats the couch seat next to him, and I move quickly and assuredly and take my place next to my guys. Mom hesitates for a moment, as if unsure of what to say or do. She moves slowly to and sits in the chair that had recently been occupied by Mrs. Paquinn. She glances between Ty and myself, and I hope she sees how well we are, or at least were until she showed up. Otter’s hand rests comfortably on the couch between his leg and mine, and I can feel his finger, out of sight by the position of our legs, rub soothingly against my thigh. I glance at him, and he looks back and the gold-green tells me that it’s going to be okay.
“How are you, Bear?” she finally asks.
“I’m fine,” I tell her coldly. “We’re fine.”
She nods and look nervously at Otter for a brief moment and then back at me. “That’s good to hear,” she says softly, wringing her hands in her lap. “I figured you would be, but it’s always good to see it with my own eyes.”
“What do you want?” I ask, feeling unwelcome curiosity mix in with the anger.
She glances at Otter again and then says, “Maybe it would be better if this were just between family,” she says, almost apologetically.
Otter snorts. “That’s not going to happen, Julie. You can say what you need to just as easily with me here.”
