Mancave

by Jo Raven

  Waves of mortification are going through me, flashes of hot and cold. My father did this. He caused Evan to get hurt, to leave his job and his town. He hurt so many people, including my mom, including us.

  Including Ross.

  I came here thinking I could set things straight somehow, but now I’m here it all appears much more complicated than it had seemed in my mind, and I have no clue where to start.

  Chapter Five

  Matt

  Evan throws a door open one-handed and gestures with a flourish for us to enter. “The guest room. Only I wasn’t able to make the bed. I left the sheets on top of it, if you don’t mind doing it yourselves.”

  I shake my head at him, not bothering with a reply. We came here to help him. Did he think we expected him to wait on us, hand and foot?

  Dropping my duffel on the unmade double bed, putting Octavia’s suitcase down by the window, I turn to face him. “Give me a list of everything you need, and we’ll get started. Bird food, turtle food, medicine, stuff for the house… leave it to us, okay?”

  He nods. His face is drawn and tight. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “Why don’t you wanna take anything for the pain?” I round the bed and give him a critical look. “You look like roadkill. Your niece is right, you should go lie down.”

  He snorts softly. “Maybe I should. But she’s a kid, and if anything happens to her when I’m not looking…”

  Damn, I know the feeling.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” he asks.

  “Doing what?”

  “Rubbing your wrist. That’s a scar, isn’t it?”

  I look down, where I’m rubbing the inside of my left wrist, an unconscious, nervous gesture. “Yeah. An old one, though. And we were talking about you, not me. Give me the fucking list and go to bed, buddy.”

  He gives me a long look that says it’s obvious I’m changing the topic, but to hell with that. “Sure thing.” He takes out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Here’s everything I could think of.”

  I take it, give it a quick glance. “Awesome. Want me to tuck you into bed?”

  “Fuck you, Hansen.”

  I grin at him. “Then what are you waiting for? Run along. We’ll wake you up for lunch.”

  “I’m not gonna sleep.”

  When I pass outside his bedroom ten minutes later, on my way downstairs, he’s already snoring, sprawled on top of his bed.

  Shaking my head to myself, I sprint down the steps and go find Octavia so we can head out and get this show on the road.

  The sooner we are done here, the sooner we can return home to the kids. I won’t be able to take a proper fucking breath until that happens.

  * * *

  I find her with Melissa in the living room, dressing up a doll that looks disturbingly like a baby in a pink onesie and matching cap. I watch them quietly from the door. The girl grins up at my wife, a gap-toothed smile, and picks up another doll for her to dress.

  Clearing my throat, I step inside. “Ready to go?”

  “You are leaving already?” Melissa whines—as if she hadn’t been throwing us death-glares ever since we arrived.

  “Just shopping for some things your uncle needs,” Octavia says, and puts her arm around the girl, giving her a squeeze. Then she gets up. “We’ll be back before you know it to cook lunch.”

  “That’s good,” Melissa says, nodding. “Uncle Evan’s cooking stinks.”

  “I hope not literally,” Octavia whispers to me as she hurries past me and out of the room.

  “Be good,” I tell Melissa. “Your uncle is upstairs, resting. We won’t be longer than an hour.”

  “Okay.” She nods gravely, and I hesitate at the door. Will she be okay?

  “Don’t open for anyone else but us. And don’t light up anything. Candles, or the stove. You hear me?”

  “I know.” And the glare is back. Maybe it’s reserved just for me. She seemed to like Octavia just fine a minute ago. “I’m not stupid. My uncle taught me all about safety.”

  But not her mom, I think as I walk out of the house and close the main door quietly. Or her dad. Where is her dad anyway? He doesn’t seem to be in the picture at all.

  Then again… sometimes it’s better that way than an abusive parent, and my mind drifts to Jasper, and Octavia’s question about Ross.

  Dammit.

  Octavia is waiting by the truck when I reach it, her gaze faraway. She’s twisting the rings on her finger, a nervous gesture she picked up in the past couple of years.

  I unlock the door, help her up. Cup her silken cheeks in my rough hands. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing,” she whispers, but the shadows in her eyes betray her.

  “This business with your father is worrying you. Making you uncomfortable. But it has nothing to do with you, Tay.”

  “Of course it does. You said it. He’s my father.”

  “Only in blood.” I stroke my thumbs over her cheekbones. “Maybe you should stay here, with the girl, resting, too.”

  “I rested enough on the way here. Let’s go.”

  I nod, draw back and close the door. She’s right, let’s do this, get it over with. And if she’s upset that her father is still the same asshole he was all his life, then yeah. Soon we’ll be gone from here once more, and she can forget about him. Worrying isn’t good for her, or for the baby.

  Dammit, I should have put my fucking foot down and insisted more on her not coming along. Then again, being away from her would just about kill me.

  I’m so fucking happy she’s with me. Selfish, I know. Which is why I need to make sure she’s okay, every step of the way.

  * * *

  Finding the brand of bird food Evan wants proves tricky, but we end up finding a similar kind, and I sure damn hope that his fucking birds aren’t picky. If they are, tough. I never spoiled my kids that way—they learned to eat all sorts of cereal, though I indulge them most of the time anyway—and I’m sure not gonna start with birds.

  I’m more interested in getting food and medicine for Evan. He looks worn to the bone, from his accident, from dealing with Jasper all this time. Never thought I’d see him looking like this, this… destroyed. The handful of times we spoke on the phone since I moved away he’d sounded upbeat and cheery. How was I supposed to know things had gone to shit?

  Why should I know?

  Throwing the fucking bird food into the back of my truck, I go look for Octavia. She has a habit of disappearing inside the stores we visit.

  I find her talking with an old man in a tweed jacket and worn pants. He’s stroking his mustache as he listens.

  “… in prison?” she’s asking. “Dear God. What did he do?”

  “Nothing that bad, but the DA ended up throwing the book at him and charging him with a felony.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Boy was charged with disorderly conduct. Drunk in a public place, shouting at passersby, you know… the works. It shouldn’t have been so bad, but this isn’t his first rodeo, and the judge doesn’t like him.”

  “I bet his father didn’t even blink when he was sentenced.”

  “Jasper?” The old man cackles. “He doesn’t give a damn about Ross, and you know it, girl.”

  Ross.

  I step closer, and Octavia turns around with a start. “Ready to head back to the house?”

  “Sure. Matt, this is Hugh Price, owner of the hardware store downtown. Hugh, this is my husband, Matt Hansen.”

  We shake hands. I sort of remember the guy, now that she mentions it.

  “Back in town?” he asks in his gravelly voice.

  “Just for a few days. Helping out a friend. Evan Morales. He had an accident, broke his arm.”

  “Oh yeah, heard about that. Good man, Evan. Putting up with that pain in the butt crack, Jasper Jones, for years. Guy’s a saint.”

  Octavia’s cheeks redden. I doubt Hugh is aware that Jasper is her father.

  “We should get going,” I s
ay, putting my arm around her shoulders and pulling her to me. “Nice meeting you, sir.”

  He nods as I steer Octavia away.

  “My father is a monster,” she whispers, miserable as I help her into the truck. “And I hate that you have to help me up every time, and it’s going to get even more difficult in the next few months, and I just…”

  She’s about to cry. I see the wetness in her eyes.

  “I love helping you up into the fucking truck,” I inform her, leaning in to kiss the salt from her lashes. “And up the fucking stairs, and later up from the fucking chairs, and in every single thing you need, because I fucking love you, and our baby. Is that clear?”

  She nods, the tears spilling out.

  “And your father is a monster, so it has to be a miracle, because he produced the best girl ever, the most beautiful, intelligent woman, and I’m so damn lucky to have met you.”

  She puts her arms around my neck, and I hold her, burying my face in the sweetness of her neck. God, I’d do anything for this girl. Anything at all.

  I just wish it involved punching the crap out of her father. I’d be so damn glad to oblige. Knocking him out cold would be a bonus.

  * * *

  Octavia is quiet as we arrive back at Evan’s house and take everything inside. Melissa hovers as we put the food away and then shows us where the birdcages and the terrarium are. She giggles as the birds flutter around, and Octavia smiles, too, the sparkle returning to her eyes.

  If the damn birds can make my girl smile, then maybe they aren’t that bad, after all.

  She gets Melissa to help her cook, and I prepare to help. I’m decent at chopping up things, even if my cooking sucks, and I’d be happy for something to do, to get on with what this trip is all about.

  But they shoo me out of the kitchen. I stand right outside, at a loss. Now what?

  Sitting idle is the worst idea ever. It starts all the panicky thoughts going in circles once more, and I have to stop myself from pulling out my phone and calling home to make sure the kids are okay. I could call my mom, ask if the school called about anything. I could call Mary on her cell phone.

  Or… I could wait until the afternoon. Not show my fear to them, not scare them for no fucking reason at all.

  So I go upstairs to check on Evan, for lack of something else to do. I could also make the bed, and unpack our things, while I’m at it.

  But he’s awake, staring at the door, blinking when I appear at the opening. “I thought I heard some noise from downstairs,” he mutters, and sits up, wincing. “Got everything okay?”

  “No problems.” I lean against the doorframe, fold my arms over my chest. “Anything you want me to do around the house? Things to fix or clean? Or maybe you need help for the shower? Do you wrap up the cast and the sling with plastic?”

  “Yeah, it’s a mess.” He gives the sling a death glare not unlike his niece’s.

  Which reminds me…

  “What’s up with Melissa’s parents? Is her dad around at all?”

  Evan sighs and rubs at his eyes with his good hand. “Let’s not talk about her dad.”

  Damn. If he’s anything like Jasper at all, as he appears to be, then I’m fucking glad. “And her mom? Why the hell would she leave the girl with you when you’re the one who needs help?”

  “She’s jobless, and a junkie. I wish Melissa would stay with me permanently, but she needs a mom. Any time she spends here is a gift.” He looks away. “For me.”

  I wish I knew what to say to that, but I don’t.

  Chapter Six

  Octavia

  Melissa takes cooking seriously, as it turns out. And she likes peeling potatoes and carrots.

  Which suits me just fine. I chop up the veggies she passes me, while the onions and meat sizzle in oil. We throw everything in, add tomato sauce and spices, and cover the pot to let it simmer.

  “Do you often help your mom cook?” I pour us both tall glasses of cranberry juice and stand at the window, looking outside at the overgrown garden.

  “Mom doesn’t like cooking. She’s very busy,” she tells me, her voice serious, and comes to stand beside me, glass held in both her hands. “She isn’t home much.”

  My heart clenches. “Who do you stay with, then? When she’s not there?”

  “A neighbor. Or here, with Uncle Evan.”

  “He loves you.”

  “He’s awesome. He used to live close to us, but then he moved here.” Her voice goes low. “I miss him. I’m so sad he’s hurt.”

  “He’ll be all right in no time. You’ll see.”

  “And he’s lonely.”

  I squat down to her level and tuck a flyway curl behind a small ear. “Oh, honey. I’m sure he has friends.”

  She tucks her lower lip between her teeth. “Like you have Matt?”

  Heat spreads on my cheeks. “Sure. Like me and Matt. What about you? Don’t you have any brothers or sisters?”

  She shakes her head. “Do you?”

  “Yes. I have two, Merc and Gigi.” I frown. “No, actually I have three.”

  “You don’t know how many you have?”

  Ridiculous, right? I forgot about him. I wonder, does his own father remember him?

  “One is a half-brother, and I haven’t seen him in a while,” I explain. “In any case…” Regroup, Octavia. “What I meant is that Evan has people who care for him. He’s going to be okay. And so will you.”

  I get up, and she comes forward hesitantly, putting her arms around my waist. “I like you.”

  “I like you, too. I wish…”

  I wish she and Evan would come to St. Louis with us. I wish I could save Ross, erase that bad dream that’s been haunting me, save the whole world.

  Is it the hormones? Is it the feeling I may have the chance to make a difference?

  Or am I just the queen of wishful thinking?

  * * *

  Lunch is a quiet affair. Evan seems a thousand miles away, head bent over his plate, awkwardly leaning over the table with his broken arm in the way. Melissa seems to be far away too, and Matt looks pissed. I wonder what he and Evan talked about, and how I would love to kiss that frown between his brows and hold him.

  “Have you got any doctor appointments?” he asks, putting his fork down. “Any other errands for us to do?”

  Evan glances up, looking startled. “Yeah, I got an appointment today. But I’ll call a cab, if you can just look after Melissa for me.”

  “I’ll drive you.” Matt shoots me a questioning look. “If Octavia doesn’t mind staying home.”

  “That’s fine,” I say, and I’m rewarded with a softening of Matt’s expression, and a quick smile from Melissa.

  Why fight it? I’m tired. And this little girl tugs at my heartstrings. Besides, I’m here to help in any way I can, and that surely includes babysitting and watching cartoons with her, with my legs up and lots of pillows, right?

  My phone rings and a glance at the screen tells me it’s Gigi. I get up to take the call, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. I stop at the window facing the street. “Yeah?”

  “How’s my favorite sister doing?”

  “I’m your only sister,” I remind her.

  “True, that. Still.” I hear laughter in her voice. “How’s our hometown?”

  “Looks the same.”

  “Does it feel the same, though?”

  I twitch the curtain aside. Two kids on bicycles are racing down the empty street. “No,” I admit. “I feel like a stranger here.”

  She’s silent for a beat. “That only means you moved on. You’re not the kid who grew up there anymore. Your life is here, with us.”

  “Yeah.” She’s right.

  How many siblings do you have?

  “And you? Feeling okay?” she asks.

  These questions always catch me off guard. It takes me a few seconds every time to remember they mean the baby. I settle a hand over the swell of my belly. “I’m fine. You? We haven’t talked lately
. How’s classes? And work?”

  “Oh fine. You know. Same old.”

  Gigi is studying to become a social worker and waiting tables at a little diner downtown. But sometimes she thinks she wants to be a manicurist in a hair salon, or else a stylist in Hollywood. In short, Gigi doesn’t know what she wants any more than Merc does, only she doesn’t stress about it.

  Or maybe she wants to be all these things, and more, and has embraced that desire.

  “Plans for tonight? Going out with Sydney and your harem?”

  “Same old. Just me, my bestie and the boys. You see? So predictable.” She snickers. “But FYI, I don’t have a harem.”

  “No?”

  “No. Sydney does. And they follow at their own risk.”

  Right… “You’re careful, yeah?”

  “Always, Mom,” Gigi mutters.

  “Augusta Claire. Mind your manners.”

  “Using my middle name? Now you’re being plain cruel.”

  It’s my turn to snicker.

  “Listen…” Something in her voice changes. She clears her throat. “Speaking of Mom… she told me about Ross.”

  I freeze, my fingers clenching in the scratchy fabric of the curtain. “What did she say?”

  “That he’s been through some bad times. And told you he totally deserves it—which he does, Tati—but that you were concerned and emotional and insisted on talking to him—”

  “So what? Why is talking to him such a bad thing? And—emotional? Really?”

  “Come on, Tati. You know you are, these days. Nothing wrong with it.”

  Right. “It’s not just what Mom told me, you know. He’s been on my mind lately. Remember how Merc got Adam’s real address from Ross and helped us find him?”

  “The psycho who kidnapped you? Yeah, I remember. Merc beat it out of Ross, Tati. They didn’t chat. And the reason they were thrown together that time was that Merc went and punched Ross in the first place.”

  I wince. “True, okay. But later Merc said they’d been hanging out in jail until they were allowed to leave.”