Page 55 of The Story of You

“Father,please. I’ll handle Darius. I promise. Just bring him home.”

“No.” The sharp edge crept into his voice. I knew to be careful or maybe lose another tooth or worse, never see Darius again. “We’ll revisit him coming home in another month. See where we’re at.”

That was the best I was going to get. “Yes, sir.”

“I shouldn’t have told you he was with Uncle Pax, that’s on me. But if I’d told you the truth, you would have freaked out. It was better this way. Easier on your heart. You have such a gentle heart, Silas. I wanted to protect you.”

I pulled in ragged breaths. “A month then,” I said, hoping I’d find a way to figure out where he’d sent Darius before then. But anxiety filled me. What if he decided Oliver was too much?

Somehow, I knew he wouldn’t get rid of me, but I lived every day after that one worried I’d wake to find Oliver gone like I had Darius.

I wouldn’t survive it.

Real panic set in.

I probably looked like shit that night. Half my tooth was still missing. Because my lip had caught and torn, I was forming a decent amount of bruising around my mouth. I was wrecked too. Oliver made me pay for leaving him. Clingy all day. Needing my attention. Plus, the chores hadn’t gotten done and that always stressed me out. When the house got too messy, Father went on a tirade.

I attempted to fold a pile of laundry I’d just dumped on the couch.

“Go to bed, son. You look like you need a decade of sleep.”

“But the laundry,” I said.

“I’ll do that for you. Go. I’m not asking.”

I was still sixteen. He was still my father. I went to bed.

In the morning, he was cooking breakfast, smiling like the warm sun. It was inviting. It reminded me of better days when he’d do that for all of us. Father made the best pancakes. He’d make them on Sunday mornings. If Mama even tried to make coffee, he’d swat her ass and tell her to go sit down. He’d instruct Darry and me to set the table, but once we were done that,heserved up the pancakes and we enjoyed them.

“I was able to take the day off. I’ll help you get caught up around here. You also might like to know I got the number of a good psychologist from a colleague. I’ll make the appointment today.”

I had Oliver attached to my torso. He was waking up, rubbing his eyes, probably wondering who this strange man in our house was. Father was hardly there when he was awake anymore. I sat down, letting him curl into me. I was fine to let Father serve me breakfast. The sedative quality of the familiar gesture inspired hope. Maybe wecouldget through this.

“We good?” he asked while we ate. His green eyes were wide pools of glycerin, optimistic and contrite.

I wanted what we had before so bad. I wanted to forgive him. I wanted to believe we could move past everything that had happened. That if he got better, he’d bring Darius back.

I nodded. “We’re good.”

* * *

Silas

Time passed and I was no closer to bringing Darius home. My mind invented stories. Father had been crazy. What if he’d done something even more egregious? He’d lied about where he’d put Darius in the first place, what if he was still lying?

In the meanwhile, I focused on being perfect. I made sure the house was spotless despite the active baby (almost toddler) who needed my attention. He spent time in his playpen while I got stuff done. I accumulated guilt about that but there wasn’t much for it. Eventually, he got used to it. I’d coo at him across the room and make sure he had toys. Sometimes he fell asleep in there on his own, which helped.

I always made sure Oliver wasn’t a bother for Father. I never asked for a night off or any time off even if I wasn’t feeling well. If I really needed to do something where I needed to be Oliver-less, I asked for Mrs. Brandywine’s help. She knew Mama and that she had died. She seemed to understand that I would be home to look after Oliver so Father could work and never asked questions. I think she felt sorry for me. Otherwise, I kept Oliver with me. That’s where I wanted him. Right where I could protect him.

Father told everyone Darius had run away. It enraged me that while everyone was sympathetic, no one cared all that much. Once Father assured everyone in that honeyed voice of his that the police were on it, Darius fell away from the neighborhood like the summer did every fall.

I was done high school, having worked my ass off between everything to finish and I would have been thinking about college, but Father wasn’t going to permit that. Not until Oliver started school. Online courses didn’t exist yet or I would have put in the request with Father.

It never left my awareness that Darius wasn’t there. I kept his room clean for him. I made his favorite meals. I told Oliver all about him and showed him pictures. I thought about what Darius would say about the things Father did. The things I did. I remembered how much he loved Mama. I missed his sarcastically realistic outlook on life.

There were selfish aspects. I hated that I had no one to talk to. I still took Oliver to the swimming hole. I interacted and went through the motions of social engagement, but I wasn’t present. Cliff had long moved on, but he was a kind person, and he would sit and chat with me. He’d play with Oliver. Sometimes I got the feeling he wanted to ask about Darius, but he didn’t, and I was glad. I don’t know that I could have kept the secret about Darius being dumped into foster care.

I worked up the courage to approach Father again. He’d been in therapy since the day my tooth was broken. He’d become somewhat helpful, offering to watch Oliver while I cooked or cleaned up the living room. I never left them alone together. I was always somewhere nearby.