Chapter 15

"Momma?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can I have a brother?"

She whirls away from the washing machine, to look down at me with wide eyes. "A brother?"

I shrug, squeezing my teddy bear to my chest. "Or a sister. I wanna be a big brother."

She laughs in a short, breathy kind of way. "Well…maybe someday."

"When?"

"I don't know."

"Where do babies come from?"

She laughs again, and says, "Oh boy."

Turning around, closes the lid on the washer, and twists the dial before hitting a button. There's a loud humming and whooshing sound, and then the machine starts shaking, knocking against the wall. Momma says it does that 'cause it's old.

"Come here, little man," she says, scooping me up and carrying me into our living room. When she sits me down on her lap on the couch, she tickles my sides, and I squeal. "You're gettin' way too heavy for that."

"I'm big now," I say. I just turned five.

She wiggles my nose with her fingers. "Yes, you are."

"So where do babies come from?"

Shaking her head, she looks up at the ceiling. I do the same, wondering what she's lookin' at. All I see are cracks and yellow spots.

Momma goes on to tell me this story about a bird called a stork who drops babies off on front porches. It's a funny story, making me giggle.

"How do I order one?" I ask when she's done.

She laughs and tickles me and says, "Only Mommies and Daddies can order babies."

"Can I ask Santa?"

"Sure," she says, ruffling my hair. "But it's okay if you don't have one. Not all kids have brothers and sisters."

I nod. "I know. But I think I'd be really good at it."

She laughs and kisses my forehead. "I know you would. You'd be the best big brother ever."

AGE 12, JULY

It's raining,the day he comes back.

Not that I actually see him. He's already long gone by the time I stumble out of bed and race to the window, planting my hand on the cold, damp glass.

I start to wonder if maybe I dreamt it—the loud banging on the front door. The pop of an exhaust. The skid of tires kicking up rocks.

My heart races, my chest rising and falling real fast.

There are tire tracks in the mud curving along our gravel driveway.

He was here.

I don't know how I know it was him, I just do.

Just outside my room, on the other side of the door, the floorboards creak with soft, but rapid footfalls.

Knuckling the sleep from my eyes, I open the door just in time to see Mom's robe float up behind her as she rushes down the steps.

She knows too.

"Mom?" I croak.

At the bottom of the steps, she pauses and spins around, brown hair flying. "Go back to bed, Mason."

I frown.

He's already gone. What does it matter?

But then why did he ding-dong ditch at the butt crack of dawn?

Is he still here?

Did someone drop him off?

My chest rises sharply, my heart beating even faster than it was a moment ago, as questions zip through my head on an endless loop.

Is he back? Did he finally come back for me?

Mom must not be too worried about me following along, because she doesn't wait to see if I listen. Keeping a safe distance back, I creep down the steps after her.

The sun has just begun to rise over the mountains, casting the inside of the house in soft gray light. Distantly, I can hear the rain pinging off the roof and windows.

Mom reaches the front door and grabs the knob. Pushing up on her toes, she presses an eye to the peephole.

And then she just…doesn't move, like she's been frozen by Mr. Freeze.

I count to five, frowning, feeling myself grow more worried than hopeful.

I don't want him back. I changed my mind. I want things to stay the way they are.

When she opens the door, revealing the screen door, I don't see anything but a hint of the white railing Gavin fixed up and painted last year. Nothing but the smooth floorboards he put in, to replace the uneven rotted ones. Nothing but a gray sky surrounding Mom's head.

I arch up on my toes, craning my head.

The screen door whines when she pushes it open. "Hello?"

If whoever's on the other side, out of view, says anything, I don't hear it.

But when Mom clears her throat, and steps outside, crouching, I wonder if maybe there's no one out there at all.

Did he leave something for me?

I've had six birthdays since Dad left us.

Six Christmases.

Not once have I gotten a present, or even a card. Not a single phone call. And I know for a fact he knows where we are, because Mom told me a couple years ago that the divorce was finalized. He mailed papers here and everything.

But I got nothing.

My feet carry me across the foyer, and toward the screen door Mom has propped open with her shoulder.

And then I freeze too.

Big gray-blue eyes look up over Mom's head, meeting mine. Pale blond hair, nearly white, hangs around their face, all the way down to their neck where it curls up under the black beanie they wear.

The kid's four, maybe five.

Hard to say, when they're drowning in a yellow raincoat. I can't even tell if it's a boy or girl, and that reminds me of the day I met Jeremy, when I just assumed, given what those jerks were saying, and the silky gold hair falling all around his face.

On the porch, next to the kid, there's a big black duffle bag, and on top, a white envelope with Mom's name written across in black, messy handwriting.

I blink a couple times, and swallow, trying to force down the thickness rising in my throat. But it's no use.

He left her a letter. Did he leave anything for me?

Mom says, "Hi there. I'm Sherry. What's your name?"

The kid hangs their head and says nothing. Maybe they can't talk? They're old enough though…

Again, I'm reminded of Jeremy. Maybe the kid is just really shy. We're strangers, and they're alone. I'd be scared too.

Mom grabs the envelope and opens it, unfolding a sheet of notebook paper with a bunch of messy writing on it. I try to look over her shoulder to read it, but she must sense me. She cuts me a look, and stands up, before walking off to the side, eyes focused on the letter once more.

I turn my focus back on the kid and say, "Hi. I'm Mason."

They look up at that. "Brother."

My eyes widen. "What?"

Mom inhales sharply.

I whip my head around, and catch her covering her mouth with a trembling hand. At first I think she's upset—sad about whatever she's reading.

But when she lowers her hand, and I see the sharp lines of her face, and she says shortly, "Stay here," I realize she's not sad.

She's furious.

I don't think I've ever seen her this mad.

She brushes past me as I step fully outside, the screen door slamming shut behind me.

The kid flinches, and drops to the floorboards, curling themselves into a ball. They cover their ears and start rocking, eyes squeezed shut.

I look around our yard, unsure what to do. The rain is coming down heavier now, slanting with the wind, blowing mist onto the porch.

Lowering to my knees, I stare at the kid's blond head. He or she is still rocking, ears covered. From inside the house, I hear Mom's voice getting louder. She's worked up. Probably on the phone with Linda. Or maybe she tried calling Dad? Did he leave a number? Did Mom have it all this time?

I know she's not mad at either of us, but I don't think this kid knows that.

I don't even really know what made Mom mad. Something in that letter. Or maybe because Dad was here, but couldn't even be bothered to say hi—the kid and the mud tracks and the letter being the only evidence he was even here at all.

I spot something next to where the yellow raincoat bunches up around them, and I grin.

"You like Finding Nemo?"

The kid's rocking slows a bit.

Finally, they nod. As if remembering it's there, a hand shoots out, grabbing the stuffed animal, and bringing it to their chest.

"Me too. Crush is the coolest. He's all whoa, dude, and sup, dude," I say, deepening my voice, doing my best impression of the surfer turtle.

The kid lifts their head, shyly peeking up at me through the hair hanging around their face. "Squirt."

"Huh?" I say, playing stupid.

They thrust the toy at me, shaking it in my face. "Flowers. See."

I slap my head. "Oh, duh."

The kid giggles quietly, bringing the stuffy back to their face, and burying it in the turtle's plush shell.

"So your dad… he's my dad?"

A nod.

"But my mom's not your mom."

This time, a small shake of their head. And they hunch down, as if trying to make them self even smaller.

"How old are you?"

A small hand pokes out from the sleeve, and I count five fingers.

"Cool. I'm twelve." I fall back onto my butt, crossing my legs. "I always wanted to be a big brother."

Again, they shyly peek up at me. Hopeful gray-blue eyes, similar to my own, peer back at me from under long gold lashes.

I smile. "Do you have a name?"

They look down and whisper something under their breath, too quiet for me to make out.

I frown. "What was that? I didn't hear you."

Louder this time, but not by much, they say, "I don't like it."

I blink. "Oh. Okay. Well, what do you wanna be called?"

A shrug. Small fingers play with the turtle's feet.

"Hmmm," I say, looking around. My eyes fall to the stuffy being crushed to their chest and nose. "What about Squirt?"

They sit up straight at that, a big smile overtaking their face, and they nod really big and fast.

I grin. "Cool. Well, nice to meet you, Squirt."

The screen door swings open behind me, and I turn my head to find Mom staring down at us.

"This is Squirt," I tell her, which has the kid giggling. Mom's eyes are red, telling me she was crying, but her face softens with a smile at my words. She nods, and glances behind me, before sinking to her knees, joining us. "Hi, Squirt."

The kid says nothing, but they're smiling shyly from behind one of the turtle's feet.

"Is it true?" I ask, turning back toward Mom, feeling the kid stare at me.

Mom doesn't ask what I mean. She doesn't have to. She looks between Squirt and me, inhaling deeply, and nods.

"Yes," she says slowly. "This is your little brother."

A brother…

I have a little brother.

The kid hides his face in the stuffy, burrowing down again.

"Dad…" I say quietly, slowly turning to meet Mom's gaze once more. "He didn't stop to say hi."

Her mouth tightens and she gives a little shake of her head. "No, he did not."

I go to ask why when a soft, little voice utters, "Daddy said you're nice."

We both turn to face Squirt.

"That you'll watch me 'til they can come back for me." His voice stutters a bit. "Mommy's sick. Had to go away."

Something sinks in me with his words, a bad feeling stirring up old, yucky, itchy-inside feelings. Squirt's started rocking again, and fuzzy images of empty bottles and piles of a white sugar-like substance being pushed into little rows with the edge of a knife flash across my memory.

The smell of metal… sweet and sharp and wrong.

Does Squirt know that smell too?

He better not.

He"s only five.

Just like I was…

Anger, fast and sudden, has me clenching my jaw and fists. Makes me wish Dad didn't just drive off. I want to hit something. Someone…

Him.

"We'll get this all sorted, okay?" Mom says, her voice thick, like she's trying to choke back more tears. Makes me all the more angry. "Let's go inside and I'll fix you boys some breakfast." She helps us both up, and grabs the duffle bag. "Do you like Captain Crunch, T-Tra?—"

"Squirt!" I rush out loudly, just as Mom's voice hitches, stuttering over a name I haven't heard her say in years. Not since she was screaming it from the other side of a trailer.

The same name Dad must've decided to give to his second-born son.

It's not right.

It's wrong.

I share a long look with my brother, who once again is hiding behind his turtle, peeking up at me over the floppy foot. "He doesn't like his name," I tell Mom firmly, not breaking our gazes. "It's Squirt."

Mom doesn't say anything immediately. But then, finally, she whispers, "Okay, okay. Squirt it is, if that's what you want."

My little brother nods, giving her a small, close-lipped smile.

Later,I find Mom out back, smoking a cigarette with the cordless phone pressed to her ear.

The rain seems to have cleared up, but with it came thick gray skies as far as the eye can see, heavy fog, and a sweep of cool air, prompting Mom to crack open the windows to let in some fresh air.

It's her voice I hear first when I stop in the kitchen for a drink.

"…gonna do, Linda? I can barely make ends meet enough as it is—no, no, you don't have to do that. I didn't tell you so—I know." She sighs, muttering a curse, and that's when I see the smoke rolling past the open window over the kitchen sink.

She must be standing or sitting right outside it. I can hear her voice as clear as if she were in the room.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I twist my head, glancing in the direction of the hallway—the stairs—making sure I'm alone.

I left Squirt in my bed. He fell asleep about halfway through Finding Nemo. I hadn't watched that movie in years. I was glad Mom didn't get rid of it.

After we'd had breakfast this morning, I showed him my collection of movies and comics. He didn't seem too interested though, so I showed him my keyboard I got for Christmas last year from Gavin. He seemed to like watching me play, but didn't care too much about trying himself.

But maybe he's just being shy still. He's barely said more than a handful of words since he showed up after all. It's gotta be weird being here with us.

He did smile all big and get excited when Mom made brownies after lunch though, showing off his missing two front teeth. But then again, who wouldn't get excited about that?

"What the hell was he thinking?" There's a long pause, and more puffs of smoke, telling me Linda must be saying something from the other side of the line. Then, "He doesn't even know his mom's dead. He thinks she's sick."

My chest squeezes at her words.

His mom's dead?

I remember what he said when he got here.

"Mommy's sick. Had to go away."

"Yeah, an overdose, from the sounds of it," Mom goes on.

I frown.

There's another pause, then, "Doubtful. He didn't give enough of a shit to clean up his act for his first son."

Wrapping my arms around myself, I glance back toward the hallway, wondering if maybe it was a mistake to eavesdrop. I don't know if I want to hear this.

I'm old enough now to know Dad was far from the hero I once worshiped. Not only did he treat Mom like crap—I see that now—but he was only so cool toward me because he was trying to get me on his side. Turn me against her.

I also remember other little things now, that I didn't really pay much attention to then. How unreliable he was. How he was only ever really nice to me and funny when he smelled of beer. Definitely not when he smelled of that awful metal stuff…

He was high. I don't know what it was, but it made him all jittery and say weird things, but with a smile on his face.

And when he wasn't…

When he wasn't smelling of beer or anything…

He just wasn't there. Present in body, but in mind…he was a stranger who'd yell at me to go away when I tried to get him to go to the river, or to town, or to the garage to work on cars.

Mom would tell me he was sick. She'd have me help her instead, or take me to the park to play with my action figures. Or she'd let me help with dinner, which was fun, and something Dad didn't like, so we kept it from him.

I swallow thickly, remembering now some of the cruel things he'd say.

To Mom, about Mom…

To me, and about me…

It made me feel weird then, but I didn't understand. I do now. And it makes me want to punch him even more. Especially now that I know he had another kid, and has likely been putting them through the same crap he put us through.

Except…

I had Mom.

Did Squirt have anyone? Was his mom nice like mine? Or was she like our Dad…

Overdosed.

I know what that word means.

"I don't get why he'd bring him here of all places," Mom says. "And to drop him off like a fucking package on our front porch. Couldn't even be bothered to stay long enough to say hi to the other kid he abandoned."

She lets out a frustrated noise, and I shift from foot to foot, unable to bring myself to leave.

"I know, I know," she rushes out quickly. "It would've just made things worse. I guess I just…I guess I still had hope that one day, he'd get his act together. For Mason's sake. Not mine. I'd be fine with never seeing him again. But—Yeah, I know." She sighs.

It's quiet for so long this time, I wonder if maybe she hung up.

More smoke billows out the window, disappearing into the gray sky.

I haven't seen Mom smoke in years. I know she still does it once in a while, when she's really stressed. She keeps a pack and matches hidden in the back of our junk drawer of our hutch. I wonder if she even knows I know it's there.

"Thank you," she says softly. There's a sniff, then, "Of course not. Hell, him leaving the kid with me was probably the best decision he's ever made. I can't even imagine…" Her voice trails off with another sigh.

I wet my lips, tucking the bottom one between my teeth.

"We'll figure it out. I know we will. I just…" I picture her shaking her head. Linda must ask something, because she says, "I don't know. He might. You never know with Travis. He could show up a month from now, and demand his kid back. And then what? How do I in good conscious give him up?" She says roughly. "He's just a child. He's not mine, but?—"

I hold myself tighter, my eyes stinging.

I don't want him to go.

Squirt needs to stay here.

"Yeah, I guess I could give them a call. But what if they put him in the system instead? Yeah, yeah, I know that would at least protect him from his dad, should he come back. But…"

I force another hard swallow, and take a step back, then another.

There's that weird feeling inside me again, one I haven't felt in years, like something's digging and clawing at my insides, and I'm finding it hard to breathe.

Turning away from the kitchen, I all but run back upstairs.

Squirt's still fast asleep in my bed, my old Marvel blanket wrapped around him, covering every inch but his long, wild platinum hair. The stuffed turtle must be tucked to his chest underneath, because I don't see it anywhere.

My breaths stutter out of me, sharp and forced.

They can't take him.

He's my brother.

I can't lose him when I just found him.

I spot my cellphone on the nightstand, and quickly, quietly grab it, before taking it to the bathroom with me.

It's Mom's old flip phone that she gave me a couple months ago—said it's for emergencies only, because it's paid by the minutes used. So far, I've only ever used it to play games.

Closing the bathroom door, I lock it, but leave the lights off as I turn my back to the door and sink down on my butt.

I only have seven numbers in my contacts:

Mom's cellphone.

Our house phone.

Chickie's.

O'Leary's—Gavin's bar.

His cellphone.

Linda's cellphone.

And the Montgomerys.

I scroll down and hit what I want without hesitation. The phone starts ringing as I press it to my ear. With my free arm, I wrap it around my bent knees, curling myself into a ball.

Just when I think I'm going to get the answering machine, there's a click, and a quiet, shaky voice answering, "Mason?"

"Jeremy," I croak, my voice breaking.

A beat passes, then. "Hey."

"How'd you know it was me?" I say, sniffling.

"Caller ID. Saw your number come up," he whispers. A beat passes, then, "Um, are you—Izzy's not here. It's…it's just me."

I bunch my face, shaking my head, glad it was him who answered, and not his parents. Not Izzy. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I don't want her or anyone else to hear it.

"Mase?"

I sniff loudly, and a short noise bursts out of me, half-laugh, half-sob.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Is it your Mom?"

"N-no, I'm fine. We're fine," I manage to get out. "I…I have a brother."

My words are met with silence. I even look to make sure the phone didn't die or the call disconnect.

"A brother?" Jeremy finally says, sounding just as confused as I'm sure he looks right now.

Nodding against the door, I say, "Yeah. My dad… He, uh, left him on our front porch."

Again, more silence.

Then, "Did you…did you see him?"

Knowing he means my dad, I shake my head. But then I remember he can't see me, and I force the words out, "No. He just…dropped him off and left."

"I'm…I'm sorry, Mason."

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling tears leak down my face. I try to keep it to myself, I do. But when I try to speak, all that comes out is a hitched sob.

I'm twelve. I shouldn't be crying like a little baby.

I don't know what's wrong with me.

"M-my chest hurts," I tell him. "I can't, I can't—" I'm wheezing now, each breath whistling.

"You're having a panic attack," he whispers.

"Wh-what?"

"I get them sometimes. Can't breathe. Feels like I'm dying."

I rub the heel of my hand into my chest, hunching against the door. "I-I?—"

"Hold your breath. Just do it. Close your eyes and hold your breath."

Sniffing, I nod, and do as he says.

"I'm gonna count to five. Don't let go until I tell you to."

I'm nodding, even though he can't see.

"And when you do, you have to let all these feelings go with it too. Give yourself these five seconds to feel it all, and then exhale. Okay?"

More nodding. Either he has superpowers, or he just knows, because he immediately starts counting, slow and steady.

"Okay. Um, one…"

My chest is on fire. Everything hurts. I even have to pinch my nose, so I don't breathe before I'm supposed to—because I just know if I do, it'll be more hitched sobs, and painfully short, sharp breaths, and I'll be back to square one, feeling like it'll never go away.

I'll die. I'll die if I stay like this.

So with all my might, I listen and do as Jeremy says, my body shaking with the effort.

"…four…"

My eyes are sealed so tight, I see stars.

"Five."

I gasp, fingers flying from my nose. Saliva rushes into my mouth, and I cough a couple times, a broken, wet sort of cough, like the kind you get when you're getting over a cold. But gone is that sharp, wheezing kind, that feels like I'm sucking air through a straw.

"Good," he whispers.

I sniff, and try to speak, but I can't. Not yet.

For what feels like forever, I sit there in the dark, on the hard bathroom tile, phone pressed to my ear, just breathing with Jeremy on the phone.

Finally, I ask, "Where's everybody?"

"They had to run errands."

"You didn't wanna go?"

"No," he says simply. But I know it's not that simple. Leaving the house scares him.

"Where's your mom?" he asks.

I clear my throat. "Outside. She was on the phone with Linda. I was…listening in, and then I don't know what happened."

He says nothing to that.

"How'd you know to do that?" I say.

There's a soft, barely-there laugh. "Therapy."

Panic attack, he called it. But?—

"I wasn't…scared."

But I was, wasn't I?

Scared of losing the brother I only just found out about.

A brother who needs me…

"It's not always about that," Jeremy says. "Sometimes it's about nothing at all, and sometimes it's about everything."

I frown.

"So…you have a brother?" he says, changing the subject.

My lips rise with a shaky smile. "Yeah. I'm a big brother. Like you."

This time he outright chuckles. "We're twins," he reminds me unnecessarily for what feels like the gazillionth time.

"But you're the older one," I remind him right back, just as I always do.

"Yeah," he breathes.

"Still counts."

"I guess."

It's quiet again for a long moment, before I say, "Thanks, JJ."

There's a quiet, rumbly sound from the other side of the phone that has me making a face. "Did you just growl?"

He mutters something too rushed and quiet for me to make out.

"Wha—"

"I told you not to call me that," he cuts in sharply.

I blink. Right… "Sorry, it's a hab?—"

"Or I'm gonna call you something you don't like," he rushes out quickly, like he had to force it all out in one go.

I hold back a laugh. "Like what?"

"I don't know." A beat passes, then he blurts, "Mase Face."

My eyes widen.

He grumbles something, and I picture his face turning beet red.

"Yeah, that's horrible," I tell him, grinning so wide, my cheeks hurt.

"Shut up."

My chest shakes with a silent laugh. "You first, JJ."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Okay, JJ."

"Bye." A split second hesitation follows, then, "Mase Face."

"Bye," I whisper, but he's already hung up.

Pushing to a stand, I wince at the numbness in my butt from sitting for so long. I unlock the door and leave the bathroom, freezing when I find my Mom walking up the stairs.

Her gaze lifts to mine, and she frowns. "Mason? Are you okay?"

The phone's clutched in my hand.

"Were you…were you crying?"

I blink a couple times, remembering…

She comes up to me, and holds my shoulders just like she did when I was little. I'm only a couple inches shorter than her now.

"You can't send him away," I tell her.

Her brown eyes widen. "Mase?—"

"He's my little brother."

Her face creases, eyes filling with tears, and she nods.

"I'll get a job," I tell her.

She laughs at that, the wet, croaky kind of laugh I haven't heard from her in years.

Wrapping me up in a hug, she presses her cheek to my hair. "You are not getting a job. We'll figure it out. We'll be okay, kid."

Nodding, I hold her tight. She's my mom. And unlike my dad, she's never lied to me.

So I have to believe it.