Page 53 of The Story of You

I laughed. “Admit it. You enjoyed that and the after part too,little bird.”

“I don’t know why I’m friends with you. I’m going over to Buttercup’s stall so we can get this done.”

Later that night, when I was curled around him, ready for sleep, he said, “Okay, I admit it. That was kinda magical. Maybe Shane likes me too.”

Some of my grand plans hadn’t worked that day and there was the chance that I’d ruined my endgame, but others worked out better than I expected. Simon that fucking happy made me forget about my schemes for a while. Guess I was waiting until lucky number thirteen.

If my life was destined to be shit, at least I could spoon-feed honey to people who fucking deserved it.

ChapterNineteen

Silas ~ September 1985

Iwasn’t allowed to call Uncle Pax. Father got sick of me asking after Darius. “The more you ask, the longer he stays,” he said.

“I just want to know that he’s okay.”

“He’s fine. He’s loving it. Wouldn’t you like to get out of here? I think you need a break.”

I did want that. I wasn’t going to say it. I knew he was distracting me. “I’d like us to be a family again, sir.”

“Yeah? Well, that isn’t going to fucking happen, is it? Your mother is dead, Silas.”

Bringing up Mama, bringing up any topic that could lead to Mama was a bad idea. It could send him into a rage. I cringed, and my ears rang with his words. I held Oliver protectively. “I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.”

But I wondered so many things. Was Darius, okay? Did he wonder why I wasn’t calling? Would Father let him come back? At the same time, I wondered if Father wasn’t right about this. I know Darius made his wish, but he was a twelve-year-old boy who was sad about his mother. In time, he might grow to like staying with Uncle Pax. Anything was better than being here. If Darius could live with Uncle Pax, couldn’t we stay there too? I was too afraid to ask.

The smell of death lingered. Oppressive loneliness was the only thing that lived there now. I hated it. When Father went to work, I took Oliver out. I did my twelfth year of school at night when Oliver went to bed. Father went out after work too. He came home drunk. I put him to bed so he wouldn’t wake the baby.

Four months after Darius had been dropped at Uncle Pax’s, Uncle Pax called the house. He asked for Father, but Father was out. I knew I was going to catch hell for it, but I asked anyway. “Can you put Darry on for a second, Uncle Pax? I miss the little idiot.”

“Why would Darius be here?” he said.

My heart sank to the floor. If he wasn’t there, where the fuck was he?

I panicked. If he began asking too many questions, who knew what Father would do? What had he already done to Darius? “Just a joke, Uncle Pax. Not a good one.”

Uncle Pax was silent. “Is everything okay over there, Silas?”

“Not really. Mama’s death’s been hard,” I admitted. I hoped that would cover up my misstep. He only got more concerned.

“I’ll call your father later. Might be time for me to pay a visit.”

But I knew Father wouldn’t want Uncle Pax coming to the house. I had no choice; I had to tell Father what I’d done. I spent the whole day on pins and needles, jumping at any sound that could be the door and thus Father’s arrival. My stomach was in knots, and butterflies had nothing on whatever was swimming around in there. He didn’t arrive home until midnight; I could smell the scotch on his breath. His collar had lipstick smeared on it, his hair was disheveled. He smiled at me. “Silas! My boy.” He ruffled my hair as he used to when I was seven. Warmth ran through me, like maybe somehow things could be okay. “Good day?”

I swallowed. “Yes, sir. Let’s put you to bed.” He was already tripping up the stairs. I would have to wait until tomorrow to tell him about my major fuck up.

I caught him before he fell into the doorframe. I guided him into his room—the one I kept clean for him—and sat him on the bed. He began taking his clothes off as I fetched him pajamas just like I’d done many nights when he got home like this.

He reached for the pajamas as he was still removing his slacks and he tripped, falling toward me. I reacted quickly pulling us toward the bed so we wouldn’t fall on the floor. He landed on top of me, my hand braced the bare skin of his back, and I was so exhausted—body and soul—I laid there. There was no comfort anymore, only the heartbeat of sorrow and the echo of hopelessness.

I caught his scent of cologne and juniper. I closed my eyes and let it fill me, calming me just like it used to.

Father wasn’t the only thing to tumble down on me, everything did. Looking after an eighteen-month-old and a house wasn’t easy. It was also fucking scary. The first time Oliver choked on his own spit-up, I’d had Mama to run to. With her gone, I was on edge that something would happen and I wouldn’t know what to do about it. Anxiously, I checked over all his toys for loose parts and kept him close while I did chores.

I missed Mama. I missed Darius. I missed my father.

Everything and everyone from my old life was gone. The new life was too much to bear. I needed … a break. I took one there, inhaling the scent of safety, letting that be a haven for me.