Do-Gooder

by J. Leigh Bailey

  “That’s good in theory,” he said, “but there’s more to it than that. I don’t have anywhere to live, no way to support myself. What I do here is volunteer work, you know, so I don’t have any money. It’s just not possible.”

  “It is possible,” I insisted. “There are ways, programs. My mom would pay for your airfare to get home. She’d probably let you live with us too.” I was begging, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want him to stay in Africa. It was too dangerous. Too far away.

  “I can’t,” he said. “I do a lot of good here. People need me. I can’t just leave them.”

  I wanted to tell him that I needed him, but bit the words back. I rubbed at the pressure building in my chest. Once again, someone was choosing Africa and his good deeds over me.

  It wasn’t fair to blame Henry, I knew it, but I didn’t really care. The painful breaking of my heart wasn’t fair either.

  “Okay, then.” I cleared my throat. “Well, thanks again for everything. Take care of yourself, Hank.” I didn’t look at him as I turned away. I didn’t think I could bear it. So I walked away, leaving Henry in the lodge manager’s office.

  I had to find Mom. We had a helicopter to catch.

  Chapter 31

  ONE MONTH, three weeks, and two days later the monotony was driving me crazy. I’d thought that coming home would fix things. I was healthy, sure. No one was threatening to kill me or anyone else. But home wasn’t what I’d expected. My life returned to normal, and Milwaukee was just as it had always been. Why, then, was I so dissatisfied? Maybe it was being back but not having anyone to talk with about everything. Most of my friends wouldn’t have understood. Either they’d have overreacted or they wouldn’t have believed me. I really needed to talk to Wendy.

  This was the first day I’d finally been allowed to come and visit her. I sat with her at a table in the lounge on her floor in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. After her attempted suicide, she’d been kept here under observation. She looked pretty good. Someone had repaired the hatchet job she’d made of her hair, and her face was scrubbed clean of makeup. She said the therapy she’d been getting helped, as did reporting her father’s abuse. She was pretty sure she’d be discharged soon. Her plan was to live with her aunt—her mother’s sister—until she went to college.

  “Jesus, Ice, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  After we’d caught up on her ordeal, I told her a little of what happened to me. I didn’t go into a lot of the details. She felt guilty enough without me telling her how close I’d come to dying. If she hadn’t had the gun, I wouldn’t have taken it from her and, ultimately, been sent to Cameroon. That was how she saw it at any rate. So she got a heavily edited version. I’d just gotten to the part where I stole the four-wheeler and went charging like a macho idiot into the mercenaries’ camp.

  “I know, right? Clearly I’d lost my ever-loving mind.” I went on to tell her about Dad’s rescue. “There he was, cool as can be, like he was some kind of action hero. Let go of my boys, he says. He was totally kickass. And Henry and I strip Snake Eyes of his weapons, tie him up with an elastic bandage and his own belt.”

  When the story was done Wendy looked at me with wide eyes. “That sounds… intense.”

  I shrugged. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “So….” She bit her lip like she was afraid to finish her sentence.

  “So?”

  “I take it things are better between you and your dad? I notice you’re not calling him Chuck anymore.”

  “I guess. We talked and cleared the air a little bit. He’s still in Cameroon, so it’s not like we’ll get to spend much time together, but at least now we can chat over e-mail.” Dad had given me his e-mail address and Skype contact information with a promise that he’d stay in touch. Since he’d e-mailed me even before I’d landed on US soil, I had to believe he was serious about it.

  “Now that we’ve got that worked out,” Wendy said, leaning forward with her elbows planted on the table. “Tell me about the Henry guy. You’ve never talked about any boy like you do him. Did you completely fall for him?”

  “Hard-core.” I pulled out my phone and showed her the single picture I’d managed to take on our way out of Yaoundé. “I mean, it’s a bad picture, but you can totally tell how hot he is. But he’s like my dad. And while I don’t resent Dad the way I used to, he’s still determined to try and save the world. And Henry, he’s determined to help him.”

  “It’s kind of admirable, you know. Believing in a cause to that extent.”

  “Yeah. I can’t even blame them. Some of the things I saw there made me want to charge to the rescue too. I’m seriously considering spending a couple of years there with Dad after graduation and before college. I only saw one group of refugees, and I don’t think that image will ever leave me. There’s so much that can be done.”

  Wendy smirked at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Answer me this: is it just the refugees you want to help or do you want a chance to be with Henry again?”

  I’d wondered the same thing when the idea first occurred to me. Because I had thought about it, I could be honest with my answer. “I really want to help. Henry helped me see things in a different way, and I wouldn’t turn away from the chance to see him, but even if I never saw him again, I think I’d want to help.”

  “I’m really happy for you,” Wendy said, taking my hand. “I have a feeling things are going to work out. After everything you’ve gone through, you deserve some happy ever after.”

  I squeezed her hand. “You too.”

  An aide walked into the lounge. “Visiting hours will be ending in five minutes, folks.”

  We stood up and I pulled Wendy into a hug. “You take care of yourself. Let me know when you’re released. Or, if you just want some company, give me a call.”

  “I will,” she said, kissing my cheek. “I really have a feeling things are going to work out.”

  “I hope so.”

  I’D BORROWED Mom’s car to visit Wendy. When I pulled onto our block I noticed a strange vehicle in the driveway. I pulled in next to it and looked at the stickers on the window. It was from one of the airport car-rental places. I jogged up the front porch and into the house.

  “Mom? Who’s here?” I stopped dead in the entrance way. I didn’t see Mom, but sitting at the dining room table was Dad.

  Dad jumped to his feet, wringing his hands like he was uncertain. “Hey there, Isaiah.”

  “Dad?” I ran forward and hugged him tightly. “I can’t believe you’re here. How long can you stay? Why are you here?” I looked around. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She was showing—”

  “Hello, Isaiah.”

  I spun around. Henry and Mom stood in the hallway.

  “Hank?” My voice croaked on his name. “You’re here? Why are you here?” My gaze swept from Mom to Dad to Henry. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s sit down,” Mom said. “I ordered some pizza.”

  Henry’s eyes rolled. “God, pizza. I’ve dreamed about pizza.”

  Mom smiled and ruffled his hair. That’s when I noticed he’d cut his hair. It was still kind of long, but now it barely brushed the top of his shoulders. “What did you do?” I asked, touching the shorter strands.

  He shrugged. “I needed a change.”

  “Oh. I like it, but I liked it longer too.”

  “Isaiah, why don’t you and Henry sit down? That way we can find out why your father and Henry are here.”

  “You didn’t know they were coming?” I asked.

  Mom shot a look at Dad. “I was as surprised as you are.”

  We sat around the table. Mom and I looked at Dad expectantly. Dad cleared his throat. “Well, Henry and I talked and I guess you can say we decided to move back.”

  “Are you serious?” I whipped my gaze between Dad and Henry. My heart pounded, and I tried to keep it cool. “I mean, when you say here do you mean here, as in Milwaukee, or here, as in the conti
nental US?”

  Dad leaned back to rub his palms over the thighs of his jeans. “I made some phone calls. I have some friends in the area. One of them is opening a clinic for homeless and low-income families in Milwaukee, and they’re looking for someone to run it. I don’t have to be in Africa to help the underprivileged.”

  I practically bounced in my seat. “You’re moving to Milwaukee?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? Are you kidding me? That’s awesome.”

  Dad’s smile was full of relief. “I’m glad you’re okay with it. One of the things I want to do is spend some time with you. Time that doesn’t revolve around mercenaries and weapons of mass destruction.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Mom wiped a little tear from her lashes.

  I spun in my seat until I faced Henry. “What about you?”

  Henry shifted on the chair. “Well, Dr. Martin—”

  Dad interrupted him. “I’ve told you to call me Charlie.”

  “Charlie, then.” Henry smiled. “He said I could live with him while I get my GED. Then I hope to be able to go to college. For biology, maybe.”

  “That’s so cool. I can’t wait to show you around. Where are you staying? Have you found a place yet?”

  The doorbell rang and Mom left to pay for the pizza. When she returned we dug into dinner. I spent most of the time asking questions and watching Henry’s reaction to his first pizza in years. An unfamiliar contentment filled me.

  A month ago I believed wholeheartedly in the adage that no good deed goes unpunished. Now, though, it seemed like karma played a bigger role than I’d thought. I’d faced death and gone through hell, but now I knew everything I’d—we’d—gone through was worth it. My family was together and safe. Henry was safe and had decided to work toward something for himself for a change. Wendy was safe and healing. Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

  J. LEIGH BAILEY is an office drone by day and romance author by night. She can usually be found with her nose in a book or pressed up against her computer monitor. A book-a-day reading habit sometimes gets in the way of… well, everything… but some habits aren’t worth breaking. She’s been reading romance novels since she was ten years old. The last twenty years or so have not changed her voracious appetite for stories of romance, relationships, and achieving that vitally important Happy Ever After. She’s a firm believer that everyone, no matter their gender, age, sexual orientation, or paranormal affiliation, deserves a happy ending.

  She wrote her first story at seven which was, unbeknownst to her at the time, a charming piece of fanfiction in which Superman battled (and defeated, of course) the nefarious X Luther. (She was quite put out to be told later that the character’s name was supposed to be Lex.) Her second masterpiece should have been a bestseller, but the action-packed tale of rescuing her little brother from an alligator attack in the marshes of Florida collected dust for years under the bed instead of gaining critical acclaim.

  Now she writes about boys traversing the crazy world of love, relationships, and acceptance. Find out more at www.jleighbailey.net or e-mail her at j.leigh.bailey@gmail.com.

  By j. leigh bailey

  Do-Gooder

  First Time for Everything (Harmony Ink Anthology)

  Published by HARMONY INK PRESS

  www.harmonyinkpress.com

  Published by

  HARMONY INK PRESS

  5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

  publisher@harmonyinkpress.com • harmonyinkpress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Do-Gooder

  © 2016 j. leigh bailey.

  Cover Art

  © 2016 Aaron Anderson.

  aaronbydesign55@gmail.com

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Harmony Ink Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or publisher@harmonyinkpress.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-63477-289-1

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-63477-290-7

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016903152

  Published September 2016

  v. 1.0

  Printed in the United States of America