Page 50 of Goldilocks

Eric leaned his shoulder against the frame of the cabin, hands deep in his pockets. “I didn’t get that he was working so hard for us. That he wanted me out on the boat to help make money to support us. After Mom died, everything was just difficult. Everything made me angry. I struggled every day in school and afterwards, at home. Even reading became hard.”

Sam’s fingers froze over the black markings on the paper, which might as well be Latin. He looked at Eric. “Reading was hard?” he repeated, his heart skipping in his chest. He never knew that.

“Everything got better after I left,” Eric said. “The problems I was having with my temper, my outbursts, even being able to read – it all got easier. But I was still angry at Dad for a long time. Still am, sometimes. But I get now that I shouldn’t have been angry at him for doing his best to keep us fed. Or be angry that he insisted I keep going to school, even though I hated it. And I shouldn’t have been embarrassed that he was a fisherman.”

The sounds of breaths filled the air between them. Eric’s eyes were determined; Sam saw no lie in them.

Eric straightened away from the doorframe and stepped into the cabin. He slowly raised his hand and cupped the back of Sam’s neck. Sam repressed a wince when his fingers brushed against Goldilocks’s bite mark. “I didn’t mean anything bad out there. I realise now how it sounded. That wasn’t even about Dad. I can’t even describe it, Sam.” Eric’s voice thickened. “Just the idea of you being on this boat scares the crap out of me. It’s this dread. This certainty that you’re going to get hurt somehow.”

Sam frowned. “I’m careful.”

“It doesn’t matter if you tell me that. It’s not a reasonable feeling, Sam. I’m just scared.”

“I’m careful,” Sam repeated, sterner this time. Not to make Eric back off, but to make him believe.

Sam had never understood why so many people had talked badly about his dad. Why not having been born into money had somehow painted a target on his back. He never went after people. He never picked fights or harassed anybody, yet from the moment he set foot in school, people had seemed to have it out for him.

He bowed his head as Eric pressed their foreheads together. “I should have stuck around. I should have been there to make sure nobody was giving you crap.”

Should have.

It was nice to hear, Sam supposed. But Eric had come here to tell him he was leaving. That he was going totextandcall. He’d made plans with Sam he had no intention of seeing through.

Sam let out a long breath, the moment feeling as bitter as it did sweet. But he knew he should appreciate the sweet. This was his brother. Eric had struck out on his own and managed to find his footing. He had an entire life built up where nobody gave him shit like Sam got growing up in this town. That wasn’t something Sam could begrudge him. Ugly envy blossomed regardless. Eric was free to just leave. He could go, nothing weighing him down, and all the responsibility of their dad’s care remained solely on Sam’s shoulders. Not that it would have been any different if Eric stuck around, Sam thought almost forcefully. Not when Sam didn’t trust him to even go into the house.

“I get why you left,” Sam said. “And I’m glad that things turned out good for you. I’m not just saying that.”

“I know.” Eric moved back, and he nudged Sam’s chin so that he would lift his eyes. “And I want you to believe me too. Iamgoing to call, and Iamgoing to text. And I’m going to be back to see you more, and I’d also like to get you out to see me in the city as well.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Eric raised an eyebrow. “You believe me or not, Sam? Because you made a face like I was full of crap when I said that two minutes ago, and I don’t feel good leaving with you thinking this is the last you’ll ever see of me.”

“I believe you,” Sam said. And he meant it. He didn’t believe Eric when he said it on the wharf, but now he did.

“Good. Thank you.” Eric glanced around himself, examining the inner cabin in detail. Sam was glad that all of his bedding was tucked away in a trunk because he didn’t think Eric would take well to the idea of him sleeping out here. “And you know, I’m not swimming in cash back home, but I’m getting by. I’d like to send you some money each week for college if that’s okay.”

Sam winced. Even if he hadn’t technically withdrawn from school yet, he knew where he was going to end up, and it wasn’t going to be as a graduate, even if he did stick out classes till the end of the year. Assignments he could manage. But end-of-year exams? He was going to bomb every single one. Maybe it was pressure or perhaps growing fatigue, but Sam’s dyslexia had worsened to a nightmarish degree.

“No pressure, no obligation. Spend it on whatever you want. Take a night off now and then, maybe. Or don’t and just save it all. It’s up to you.” Eric shrugged. “I’d just like to send something.”

Sam wanted to say no. It was reflexive to reject aid at this point, but depending on what Eric sent, he could get his dad a nurse for a day or two during the week. Or maybe get his dad out of the house? The nurses Sam hired to keep his dad company never came back after the first day.

“Alright,” Sam agreed.

“And I’ll coordinate with you, but I’ve reached out and left messages with the local nursing homes. I’m hoping to have two people available by next week, someone to cover Monday to Friday, and then someone else for the weekends,” Eric explained.

Sam snorted. “It costs six hundred a week, minimum, for five days.” And Sam didn’t need to know what Eric made at Ivan’s tattoo parlour to know it wasn’t enough to consistently cover that.

“With Dad’s situation, he’ll get state support to cover at least 70 percent of that,” Eric said calmly.

“I applied for that already. They said no. I applied for every support there is, and they all said no.” Did Eric think that Sam had just sat back and done nothing? That he hadn’t even tried?

“They said no two years ago, saying the support wasn’t necessary,” Eric said, surprising Sam with his knowledge of the claim. “He’s gotten worse since then. Hasn’t he?”

Two years ago, there were still days when Sam could get his dad out of the house for a while. The last time he’d tried that – months ago now – he’d never even made it to the front door, and his ribs had ached for weeks afterwards.

“They’ll quit,” Sam said. “None of the nurses last more than a day in that house.”