“How’s dad?” I ask the same question every time mom calls.
She always gives the same answer. “Better. He’s showing progress.”
Translation -- nothing has changed. Since we are following a script, I take my turn and follow with, “When can I see him?”
“Soon.” I could say the words with her. “Right now, he needs his rest, and you shouldn’t miss anymore school. But soon.”
We fall into silence while I pick at a hole in the couch cushion and wonder if the Ark could survive a thirteen hour road trip, because I really want to see my dad.
“Everything good there?” Mom asks. “Any problems? Do you have enough money in the account? I haven’t been able to get ahold of Aunt Charlotte.”
This is where I answer with a string of Yes, Sure, Of Course. I don’t like lying to my mom but I make the effort because it’s for the good of the family. Because this is temporary. Please, please let it be temporary. And because I am Tia, hear me roar.
“Tell me what’s going on with you,” Mom encourages, working too hard at cheerful and sounding tired.
I don’t tell her about Booger currently digging in a potted plant I’ve neglected to water for over a month or the weird noise the dishwasher makes. I go on and on about volleyball season, homecoming and all the things I used to care about. She promises to go shopping for a dress with me. We play a great game of pretend.
“I hear you have a new friend,” Mom remarks.
“A new friend?” My feet hit the floor as I sit up straight.
“The Tazmerek boy?”
“What about him?”
My mother sighs. “I’m worried you’re getting into a bad situation.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You can’t save everybody, honey.”
“Are you telling me who I can and can’t be friends with? Is there an application he can fill out? Does he need references? A pedigree?”
“Tia …”
“Will there be a test?”
“Tia …”
“Should he get a physical? Pee in a cup?”
“Cool your jets there girly,” she warns me. “I want to give this boy the benefit of the doubt, but I’ve asked around and the vote is unanimous. Everyone agrees he’s bad news.”
“Bad news? Did you actually just call him bad news? Well fiddle-dee-dee, there goes my reputation. How will I ever attract a proper suitor? Who’s going to pay the taxes on Tara? Somebody fetch my smelling salts and pour me a mint julep. Jeez, mom, I can’t believe you were digging for dirt on him. What about his privacy? What about the benefit of the doubt? Innocent until proven guilty and all that?”
The silence lasts just long enough to let me know I went too far. My face flushes with heat and I stew in shame.
“You let this boy into our home, put him around my kids,” Mom points out. “My family’s best interests are my priority, not his privacy. And that boy has a very disturbing history.”
That boy. He is always reduced to THAT boy. Those two words leave no room for him to become anything else.
“Maybe I’d better come home,” she mumbles, and I hear shuffling around, like she’s already packing up.
This is my nightmare, mom giving up on my dad because I don’t measure up.
“Mom,” I whine. “You’re overreacting and not being fair.” Is that the best I can do? I should tell her about Taz mowing the lawn, cooking eggs, playing with Tully and all the terrific things he’s done for me. But I’d rather not admit he’s traded punches with Philly, Brandon, Kyle and Marty in less than a week, hangs out at the Yellow House and showed up here in the middle of the night reeking of weed and beer. There’s also the whole armed robbery thing, and oh yeah, I’m supposed to ask Taz who was holding the gun.
I’ve wrapped a loose couch thread so tightly around my index finger it’s turning purple and starting to throb.
“Wait a minute!” I suddenly interrupt whatever my mother was starting to say. “I know why you called this morning. It’s not because you’re missing me.”
“Of course I miss …”
“You’ve been talking to Buddy Twardowski. He called you, didn’t he? He totally did. Holy farts, what a tool.”
“Tia! Watch the mouth. Buddy offered to keep an eye on you kids, and I appreciate it.”
“Yeah well, tell him thanks a million for digging up the lawn with his tires. And for flashing his lights. He woke up Mrs. Kirkland.” I’m guessing here. “You know she has insomnia.” Which is totally true.
“Your father is the reason Gibson Tazmerek is back with his mother. Did you know that?” No I didn’t, and she doesn’t give me a chance to say anything. “The boy’s own mother didn’t want him, was afraid of him, until her husband stepped in and agreed to take responsibility. I don’t know what that says about this boy, but your dad wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing.”
“Maybe dad realized there’s something wrong with a mother who doesn’t want her own son,” I fire back.
“I spoke to Terek,” Mom says.
I groan. I’m screwed. “What have you always told me to do?”
“Uh,” she says. “Follow your dreams?”
“Yeah but no, not that.”
“No complaining over something you can change?”
“Try again.”
“Flossing is your friend for life?” Mom tries. “Sensible shoes make sense?”
I huff. “Give everybody a chance to be their best. Right? That’s all I’m asking here. Give Taz a chance before you make up your mind about him. He’s so much better than what anyone is letting him be. There’s so much more to him than what anyone sees. He just needs a little help.”
I wait, biting at my bottom lip. Nevermind I used that same argument to keep Ingrid or that I spent a long sleepless night deciding Taz might be best appreciated from afar. I’ve changed my mind. Somebody’s got to stick up for him.
“Terek says I should trust your judgement,” Mom tells me
Wow. Didn’t see that coming. I owe my big brother big time.
“And I agree,” she tells me. This is a day full of miracles. “You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you. But while I understand your generous heart, I need to know my family is not at risk. I’m going along with this only because your brother is there to keep an eye on things.”
Ah. Now I understand Terek didn’t so much vouch for me as cover his own ass.
“Got it,” I offer up.
“I’ll need to meet this boy, Tia. If you’re letting him spend time at the house, around the kids, and you’re getting involved, I WILL meet him. No excuses.”
“No problem,” I say with so much confidence I should be nominated for a Golden Globe.
CHAPTER 38
TAZ:
“Do I want to know why you’ve missed work the past two days?” Boss Man slaps his baseball cap against his thigh and scowls at my bruised and scabbed face.
I don’t answer. I stare off to his right where there’s weeds to whack, leaves to rake and all sorts of fun shit for me to do without getting a fucken cent for it. For dinner, I plan to steal a sleeve of those crappy crackers with cheese the color ear wax and hope to hell I don’t get busted. The friggin cops are all over my ass. The jerkbag from last night trolled by me three times while I walked to work. I was tempted to stick my thumb out and beg a ride.
“You get in a fight?” he growls at me.
Nothing gets by Sherlock here. I press my lips together and shuffle my feet. It’s fall, so it's chilly during the day and downright cold at night. No coat means I stand here and shiver while Boss Man plots a course to nowhere.
“You’re supposed to be keeping your nose clean. Wanna give me the rundown on who beat on you and why?”
I’ve learned that silence after a direct question makes everyone but me uncomfortable. He lasts all of three seconds.
“OK. Right. Whatever you do outside of work, not my problem. But showing up is mandatory. Don’t make me file
a complaint.” He seats his hat back on his head and stabs a thick finger at me. “Last chance, kid. Be on time. Be prepared.” He drops a pair of workboots at my feet. “These are for you. Don’t be without ‘em.”
The boots are scuffed but in decent shape and look to be my size. What is he, my fairy-fucken-godmother? How did I end up first in line for his charity?
“They’re not a gift,” he tells me. “I’ll think of a way for you to pay me back.”
And here we go. Nobody knows better than me, nothing's free, and no way I’m blowing this jackhole for a pair of boots.
“Jesus kid. Don’t give me that look.” Off comes the hat again, and he uses his sleeve to mop sweat from his forehead. “I’ll pull the cost out of your wage.”
Try manning a shovel wearing sandals. It sucks. I want the boots and it pisses me off. I stare at them until Boss Man says, “For chrissake, they’re not gonna bite. Go ahead.”
I bend down to pick them up and get dizzy. No food. No sleep. Nothing but beer and way too much weed, and the recent baseball bat to the skull probably didn’t do me any favors. As I straighten, everything goes gray and wonky, and I wobble and lose track of where I am. Something slams into my spine, knocking every last teaspoon of breath right out of me, and then … I’m flat on my back, blinking against the glare of the sun.
For some reason, I think of Tia, stupidly comparing the blue of the sky to her eyes, that are darker yet somehow brighter at the same time. I’m pathetic. After Jerkbag the Cop dropped the armed robbery bomb, she’s definitely done with me, and it’s for the best and all that. Still blows.
“Hey.” Boss Man is knelt down next to me. Toothless Wonder and Three-fingered Dude look over his shoulder. They’re staring at me like they just found a dead bird. “You OK there kid? You went down hard.”
I don’t like this at all. I struggle to sit up.
“Take it slow.” Boss Man reaches for me, his hand shooting out kinda quick like, and I make an idiot of myself. Digging with my heels, I scoot backwards. Yeah, scooting. On my ass.
“Whoa, whoa, easy there. Sit tight a minute.” He glances behind him. “Arnie? You got that water?”
Toothless Wonder twists the cap off a plastic bottle and shoves it at me. I chug half of it, the water splashing into my empty belly and sloshing around. I’m slimey with sweat and my head pounds harder than a subwoofer at a death metal concert.
“Slow it down,” Boss man warns. “Here, this might help.” He digs a Hershey bar out of his shirt pocket and offers it. And waits for me to take it. He finally shakes it at me.
My gut cramps with want. Saliva floods my mouth but I can’t make myself reach for it. I’ve played this game before, after doing something stupid, and it never ends up with me eating the chocolate. Whatever’s going on here, it’s triggering old shit and my fingers start up.
“For crying out loud kid, take the goddamn candy.” There’s an edge to his voice as he tosses the Hershey bar in my lap. He straightens to his feet, his shadow falling over me, and starts brushing the grass off his pant legs with sharp swats. I know he’s probably not gonna kick me, but the twitches crawl up my arms and into my shoulders and I cringe away.
Boss Man notices. I’d need to piss myself to be more pathetic.
“Ah Jesus.” Backing up a step, he barks. “You two get to work.”
Toothless Wonder and Three-Finger Dude makes themselves scarce. I cringe as Boss Man squats back down. Now he’s gonna be in all sorts of a rush to get me off his crew, and I need this goddamn job.
“You doin’ alright kid?” He pulls his hat off for the thousandth time and chews on the inside of his cheek. “Is there anything you wanna talk about? Cuz you can, you know, tell me if you need some help.”
I clench my teeth so hard something pops in my jaw.
“Nothing?” he pushes “About maybe what’s going on with you?”
He twists the hat between his hands. I’m not sure what he’s asking me. Nothing’s going on with me. Everything’s just as shitty as always. That’s the fucken problem. And whenever someone offers to help, it all gets worse.
“OK, well ah, you know your mom’s got a lot of influence around here?”
Should I clap, maybe grab a pencil and write this down?
Blowing out a breath, Boss Man finally looks at me. “Here’s what I can do. You help me out around my house for a couple hours here and there after work. Clean the garage, chop some wood, patch the roof, do some painting, that sort of thing. I’ll clear it with your mom. We’ll call it a favor to me. As far as anybody knows, it’s all volunteer. So when I throw you a few bucks for your time and trouble, you do what you want with it.” He nods a couple of times and sucks on his lower lip. “All right then. Drink the water. Eat the chocolate. Hang tight for a bit and then get to work. You’re not getting paid to sit on your ass.”
CHAPTER 39
Tia:
It’s been a week since the night Taz staggered into my backyard. Seven long days of him refusing to so much as look at me. When I talk to him, he pretends I don’t exist. I probably shouldn’t take it personally because the boy has turned into a zombie. He shuffles through the high school halls with dead eyes and tension thinning his lips. His scowl terrorizes freshmen into hiding.
Meanwhile, I’m the White Rabbit in Wonderland and perpetually late to everything. I only find time to worry about Taz once every twenty minutes. In-between, I manage to bomb a calculus quiz, get tagged by a tennis ball in the boob during gym and drag a piece of toilet paper into the lunch room on my shoe.
Mrs. Hardick now looks at me as if she’s been sucking lemons out of a lobster’s butt. I slide a caramel macchiato across the desk, hoping six dollars worth of hot beverage is enough to buy my brothers out of trouble.
While Tully plunders the art supplies at the back of the classroom, the teacher reads Ten’s essay aloud. His Love of Basketball is five hundred words about playing with his balls, the size of his balls, bouncing his balls and even the smell of his balls. Hem’s Love of Fishing details the length and stiffness of his pole. I promise to bring pastries next time. Mrs. Hardick mentions a passion for cranberry orange scones from Minnie’s Bakery.
I grab a glitter-covered Baby Sis and head to the store for toothpaste, tampons and stuff to pack lunches. Tully throws a hissy fit in the parking lot, so I tow her behind me like Linus’s blanket. We then pick up the twins at the rink, where the team mom corners me. To outfit a bunch of ten-year-olds in two hundred dollar matching, embroidered Hornets Hockey jackets, the parents are fund-raising. I ask if the twins can share a jacket. She thinks I’m joking. My demon brothers turn their big baby blues up at me and I get signed up to sling chili at the butt crack of dawn Saturday morning.
It’s Tully’s choice for music today, so we ride home to her singing along with Do You Want To Build A Snowman. Twelve times. Same song. She will never win a Grammy. As we haul hockey bags, grocery bags and backpacks inside, my nose twitches at the sour smell. I’m blaming Ingrid until my feet stick to the kitchen floor. Somebody didn’t cap the orange juice tight enough, laid the bottle on its side and it leaked everywhere.
Sam licks the floor. Ingrid starts humping my leg and Booger hops onto the kitchen table, looks right at me and kicks over the salt shaker. No problem. I just need to tap into my endless well of patience. OK, not endless. Deep breath.
“It’s my turn to bring treats to ballet,” Tully informs me. “It’s gotta be cookies and they can’t be store bought cuz Brittney says those are a fish hole.”
“A fish hole? You mean artificial,” I mumble and rub at a sudden throbbing above my eyebrow.
“That’s what I said.”
“Is this the same Brittney who tripped the Sugarplum Fairy during the Christmas recital? We don’t let girls like her make our choices for us.”
“My choice is cookies with rainbow sprinkles and chocolate frosting, shaped like Princess Elsa, and we gotta make ‘em from scrap.”
“Scrap?”
“Yup.”
“You mean scratch.”
“No I don’t!”
“Yes you do. And it would have been real helpful if you’d have mentioned this while we were AT THE GROCERY STORE!”
“I’m telling you NOW!”
I make a point to lower my voice. “We’ll see, OK? I don’t have a lot of time for sprinkled Elsa cookies.”
“You never do anything I wanna do!” the little gremlin screams at me.
“Are you kidding me right now? That’s all I do!”
“Never, never, never, and I want mommy! Mommy makes good cookies. She makes scrap cookies and doesn’t burn and wreck everything!”
I dig the lunch meat and sliced cheese out the grocery bag, fling the packages at the counter and shout back, “Well I’m all you’ve got!”
“T?” says Hem.
Pawing through the last bag, realizing I forgot tampons, I snarl, “Goddammit!”
“Quarter!” Tully screeches. “You’re bad, and I want Terek!”
“Good luck with that!”
“Tia,” interrupts Ten.
“I want Tummy!” Tully wails.
“Look around!” I yell at her, spreading my arms and spinning in a circle. “See anybody else here? No? That’s because there is nobody else. So I guess you’re shit out of luck!”
“Tia,” Hem tries again.
“Quarter! Quarter! Quarter” Tully shrieks.
“Tia!” The twins shout.
“WHAT?” I find them standing side by side, looking up at me like something out of The Shining. I breathe in, breathe out and ask more calmly, “What is it?”
They duck their heads and say, “Basement’s flooded.”
I burst into tears.
CHAPTER 40
Tia:
I call my older brother, but it goes straight to voicemail. I switch to texting the big idiot. Four times. Then I call again and get no response. I try the multiple places where he works and guess what? Terek isn’t scheduled anywhere right now. I can’t decide if I’m pissed or butthurt. Why doesn’t he come home?
Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1) Page 17
