Authors: Pat White
J.D.’s father shoved him into the front steps. Face first. Did he break J.D.’s nose? Was he bleeding?
I pace my room as anger rages through my chest. That bully abuses his son in public and no one cares?
I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial 9-1-1. Hesitate. Can’t hit the Send button. If I do the cops will knock on our door and ask questions. Mom and Dad will be pissed if they find out I care about J.D., and Dad will whip out the shotgun or one of his power tools and…
“I have to do something.”
I could call children’s services but they’d probably take weeks to investigate. I need to do something. Now.
Wait, what about the cop J.D. checks in with? Detective Ryan, yeah, that’s it.
Sliding into my desk chair I search the local non-emergency police number on my computer. I press the number on my cell and hope I don’t regret this decision.
* * *
“After you’re done with the front deck you can start on the back,” the old man said from the screen door. “You’ll finish sanding this weekend and stain the next.”
J.D. glanced up and squinted against the sun. “I’ve gotta do clean up at Mr. Cooper’s later.”
“Then you’d better work fast.”
“I need more sandpaper.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes sir.” He held up the last sheet.
“Always got excuses,” his dad muttered and slammed the front door.
J.D. went back to sanding the front steps, discolored from wear and tear, and J.D.’s bloody nose. He couldn’t believe the old man assaulted him in public.
In front of Catherine and her parents.
J.D. was on his way to let Catherine have it for kissing Greg the psycho. Leading Greg on was dangerous.
But as J.D. started to cross the street he caught sight of her wide eyes and stiff posture. He recognized that look. He saw it on his brother’s face every time the old man got close.
Fear.
Catherine was afraid of J.D.
His shock immobilized J.D. long enough for the old man to grab him and make a scene.
J.D. stayed down on the stairs, not wanting to enrage his father. J.D. avoided looking in the direction of Catherine’s house again. He couldn’t handle the disgusted expression he knew he’d see in her eyes—disgust at his weakness.
The old man peeled out of the driveway and headed for the hardware store, but he’d most likely end up at McHugh’s Pub. Good, it would keep him away from the house for a few hours, giving J.D. some peace.
He rubbed sandpaper against the wood, back and forth, harder each time, channeling his frustration. The physical exertion helped to relieve the anger building in his chest.
She’d kissed Greg Hoffman.
And it looked like she enjoyed it.
Swish, swish. He pressed harder, back and forth, his arm straining with the force. Maybe if he worked himself into a state of exhaustion he’d pass out and forget what he saw.
Forget she’d kissed someone else.
When he only wanted her kissing him.
His lips tingled with the memory of her sweet taste and slight whimper as she leaned into his chest.
“Having fun?”
J.D. glanced over his shoulder at Detective Ryan who was coming up the sidewalk.
“Does it look like I’m having fun?” J.D. turned back to his chore.
“Hey, kid.”
J.D. put down the sandpaper and turned around. “What?”
Detective Ryan eyed J.D.’s swollen nose and scratched cheek.
“What happened?” Ryan said, his tone flat.
“I tripped.”
Detective Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Uh-huh. We have a witness who says otherwise.”
“What, did Hoffman tell you we got into a fight? I haven’t seen him all day.”
“I believe you. Is your father home?”
J.D. stood. “Why?”
“I need to talk to him.”
“No.”
“No, I can’t talk to him?” He shot J.D. a wry smile.
“No, he’s not home.”
The detective glanced at the house.
“See for yourself,” J.D. motioned.
Detective Ryan refocused on J.D. “Like I said before, I believe you.”
“Yeah, right.” J.D. fell to his his knees and continued sanding.
“It goes faster if you work with the grain,” Ryan offered.
J.D. didn’t answer. He didn’t like the Detective showing up unannounced, asking about his dad, asking J.D. about his nose.
“I’m not your enemy, J.D. Just,” Detective Ryan hesitated, “call me if you need anything.”
J.D. slammed his fist on a wooden step and glared at the detective. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to help you.”
“You can’t.”
“I can if you’ll let me.”
J.D. ripped his gaze from Detective Ryan, fearing he might spill his guts and end up in foster care. He glanced across the street and spotted someone spying out an upstairs window.
Catherine.
She was watching him be interrogated by the cop. Friggin’ great. Another reminder of what a loser he was.
“You’ve got my number.” As Detective Ryan walked to his car, he glanced up at Catherine’s window.
J.D. stood and narrowed his eyes.
No, she wouldn’t have. J.D. had explained the risk. If anyone found out about Dad, J.D. and Billy would be split up.
Mom would never find them.
You idiot, she’s been gone five years. She has no intention of finding you.
He had to accept the fact she didn’t care about her sons enough to save them from this hell.
Okay, so maybe she didn’t love them, but J.D. loved his brother. And he wouldn’t let anything split them up.
Or anyone.
* * *
I lay on my bed, fighting off a headache from thinking too much.
Thinking about how to stop Greg.
How to stop HULU’s.
How to help J.D.
I’d give anything to be able to communicate with him, but I don’t have his e-mail and Facebook is too dangerous. Can’t risk anyone seeing our messages.
Mom taps on my bedroom door. “Honey?”
“Yeah.”
Mom comes in, wearing a maroon dress with a grey scarf.
“Would you like to join Dad and me for dinner and a movie?”
“No, thanks. Greg might stop by later,” I lie. “Don’t worry, I won’t bring him upstairs.”
She walks over and kisses me on my forehead. “I’m not worried about that nice boy, but thank you for respecting our rules.” She walks toward the door and glances over her shoulder at me. “There’s leftover casserole and a container of berries on the top shelf of the fridge. You’ll call if you need anything?”
“Yep.”
“I found some information on the Internet about helmets for TBI victims.” She slides a few sheets of paper onto my dresser.
My heart sinks and I can feel the blood drain from my cheeks.
She hesitates. “Maybe Dad and I shouldn’t go out.”
“No, please go. Have fun.”
“But you seem a little—”
“Just go and stop treating me like a child!” But I sound like one. For sure. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand it must be frustrating for you that I hover all the time.”
“Which is why you need to go out.”
“You’ll—”
“I’ll call if I need you.”
She pulls the door closed, and cracks it open again. Force of habit. She wants to be able to hear me if I pass out and hit the floor or have a meltdown.
Which I nearly did earlier, but Mom doesn’t know that.
I couldn’t get the image of J.D. and his father out of my head. I watched from my room as Detective Ryan spoke briefly with J.D., then left without interrogating J.D.’s dad. I felt helpless all over again.
Why didn’t Detective Ryan arrest J.D.’s father? Take J.D. into protective custody? Do something?
I feel the vibration of the front door closing downstairs. I cross my room and hesitate beside the dresser, glancing at the white sheets of paper with helmet information. I’m overwhelmed with emotion right now and the helmet is a reminder of how broken I truly am. With a frustrated shake of my head, I go downstairs in search of food.
Maybe I should text Greg and ask him to come over. Mom wouldn’t mind, and it would give me peace of mind. If Greg is here he can’t be tossing bombs.
I’m not sure I have the energy to deal with him. I spent the last few hours trying to figure out how to stop Greg but came up empty, well, except for the obvious.
Do I want to intentionally dive into a Greg HULU?
No, I really, really don’t.
I’ll stick with the charm approach until I come up with a better plan.
I warm up a scoop of macaroni casserole in the microwave, grab the container of fresh berries from the fridge and head back to my room. I’m a smart girl, or at least I was. I’ll come up with a strategy to stop Greg from burning down the school. What an idiot.
I slide my dinner onto my dresser and lean against my door jam to text Greg:
miss you. call me tmrw
“Don’t ever do that again.”
I shriek and instinctively toss the phone at the intruder standing in the corner of my room. With lightening quick reflexes J.D. catches it and reads the message.
“Miss him, huh?”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“That is the oldest cliché known to man.” He places the phone on my desk. “I don’t care what you do with him. Just stay out of my life.”
“Excuse me?”
“You called Detective Ryan, didn’t you?”
“So what if I did? It’s not like it helped.” I grab the phone and delete the text message as I pace away from him.
“You’re damned right it didn’t help. If the old man had been there—”
I spin around. “He wasn’t home?”
“He was out getting supplies. But it wouldn’t surprise me if Detective Ryan came back to talk to him.”
“Good, maybe he’ll lock him up so he can’t hurt you anymore.”
J.D. takes an angry step towards me. “If they lock him up me and Billy will be separated and she’ll never find us.”
“Who?”
His intense eyes soften. He shakes his head slightly and looks away. “Never mind.”
He starts for the window; I’m guessing that’s how he got in. I dart across the room and grab his arm. “I’m sorry, okay? I can’t stand seeing you hurt like that. Don’t go?”
“I have to. I saw the way you looked at me today.”
“The way I looked at you?”
“Yeah, like you were terrified.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I was coming over to give you a hard time about kissing Hoffman.”
“I wasn’t afraid
of
you. I was afraid
for
you.”
“Right.” He smirks.
“My father would have killed you. He’s got a shotgun in the hall closet and a chain saw in the garage.”
“You…weren’t afraid of me?”
“God, no. Come on, hang out for a while.”
I motion to the bed and he shifts onto the edge as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. I sit beside him and place my hand on his back. “Isn’t there anyone who can help you, I mean, with your dad?”
He shakes his head that there isn’t.
“What about your mom?”
“Gone.”
“Divorced?”
“No.”
“Dead?”
“I don’t think so.”
Which meant she’d abandoned her sons. An ache fills my chest.
“How long ago?” I ask.
“Five years.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“We’ve moved twice. I used to think that’s why she couldn’t find us.”
“You don’t think that anymore?”
He looks straight into my eyes. I’m not wearing my sunglasses, but I couldn’t break eye contact if the roof was collapsing on top of us.
“She had good reason to leave,” he says.
“Your dad?”
He nods and glances at the floor. “And me and Billy.”
“Don’t say that.”
He studies his fingers, interlaced in his lap. “When she left to run errands she made me promise…”
I felt his heavy sigh in my own chest.
“What?” I ask.
“To take care of my little brother,” he said.
A massive responsibility for a twelve-year-old boy.
“I’ll bet you do that really well,” I offer.
He shrugs.
I lay down on the bed and he glances over his shoulder at me.
“Come on, relax with me,” I offer.
He chuckles. “Being a seventeen-year-old male I hear that as a proposition. Are you flirting with me?”
He cracks that smile again, the warm, playful one. It does things to my insides that make me want to reach for him, hold him.
“No,” I say. “Just trying to comfort you.”
“Thanks,” he glances out the window. “But no thanks.”
He’s guarded. I get that. Letting someone in is scary as hell. Yet I was able to let him in earlier this afternoon when I shared my terrifying secret and took comfort in his understanding, his touch.
“J.D. What does that stand for, anyway?”
“I don’t know you well enough to tell you.”
“Do you know me well enough to help me brainstorm ways to stop Greg?”
“I guess.”
He stretches out on my purple comforter. A thrill rushes through me at the thought of his scent lingering in my room after he leaves tonight. I position myself in the crook of his arm, cradling my body against his.
I want to stay here forever.
“How did you know it was safe to come over?” I ask.
“I’m not sure it is safe,” he teases.
“Ha, ha.”
“I saw your parents leave. I needed to come over and bust your chops for meddling.”
“Hmmm. That worked out well.” I inhale his woodsy scent and smile.
“Focus, young lady.”
Instead I find myself drifting into fantasyland, daydreaming about walking down the street holding his hand, sharing a smoothie outside Safeway, sketching side-by-side at Pine Lake Park.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he says.
“Sorry. You make a really good pillow.”
“And she’s flirting again,” he teases. “Back to Greg.”
“Ick.”
“You didn’t look ‘ick’ when you kissed him.”
“I’m trying to stay on his good side. He’s easily manipulated.”
“By your pretty face. I’ll have to remember that.”
I prop myself up on my elbow and look at him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He smiles. “So, what’s your strategy, Sherlock?”
“Figure out what he’s planning and when it will happen. I’d love for the cops to catch him in the act.”