Chapter Five

Of all the things he thought he would do his first couple of weeks back home, lying around his mother's living room watching cartoons wasn't one of them. He needed to get out and get a job, but the thought of facing other people beyond Bobby and his mother tightened his chest.

So yeah, maybe he had a little bit of depression setting in, and he couldn't afford that particular illness. Not that depression cared what he could or couldn't afford. It didn't care about anything but settling into his body, shutting everything down so the monster could breathe.

And he fully admitted, at least to himself that he was scared to walk out of his mother's front door.

Jaron sighed and turned his head to look at Bobby, who snuggled into his side. Bobby had a cut up apple in a bowl next to him. He had his hand inside, lying over the bowl's lip, not taking an apple slice out, but holding one in his hand. The cat chasing the mouse held Bobby's complete attention.

Jaron smiled even as he kissed the top of Bobby's head. He stood and walked around the couch. "I'll be in the kitchen, snuggle bear."

He'd make a list of needed grocery supplies while he talked to Andrew.

"'k, Papa."

"I'm calling Andrew. You want to talk to him?"

Bobby scrambled off the couch, upending the bowl of apples until two slices escaped.

Jaron walked around the couch again, picking up the apple slices in one hand and putting the bowl on the coffee table with the other. He followed Bobby into the kitchen, where the phone hung on the wall. Before picking up the phone receiver, he threw away the apple slices and washed his hands. Jaron dialed and then handed the phone to Bobby. "Remember to ask for Andrew."

Trying to teach Bobby good telephone manners was an effort of trial and error. Andrew had been their guinea pig before, so he was used to it.

Bobby waited, listening to the ringing. "Andrew?"

Jaron rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Grandma Gloria gives me cookies just like Grandma Louisa does." Bobby nodded as if Andrew could see him. When his eyes darted to Jaron, he knew Andrew said something about him. "Papa hugs me a lot…yeah." Again with the head nodding. "Okay…love you too."

Bobby handed the phone to Jaron and went back to his cartoons.

Jaron smiled as he put the phone to his ear. "Hey."

Andrew chuckled. "It's a good thing he's so damn cute."

"I had that very same thought."

"I'm sure."

Jaron pulled a notepad and pen from the drawer and opened the refrigerator. "How's it going around there?"

"Same thing, different day. Only difference is you're not at the diner." And Tracy isn't alive. That knowledge hung between them. "How are you?"

"I need a job. My savings won't last forever." He needed to leave the house more than once every two weeks. "Other than that, I'm fine."

"Have you met with any of your old friends?"

"You mean the one I had. No. And he hasn't called. Maybe he's waiting for me." Maybe he didn't realize Jaron made it back home. His hermit status didn't exactly give anything away, small town notwithstanding.

Andrew sighed. "Best just to get settled there. The sooner you do that, the better it will be for Bobby."

"You're right. I know. That's why I'm making a list to go to the grocery store." He wrote down the basics. Milk, eggs, and bread. He added cereal and cookies. He had it on good authority Grandma Gloria ran out of the cookies Bobby loved so much.

"The grocery store, Jaron. What does that have to do with anything?"

Jaron smiled. "The grocery store has a community board. It's the only place in town that will have job listings."

"No one uses the newspaper?"

"Nope. Not around here. At least they didn't when I left, and of all the things that have changed, I seriously doubt that's one of them."

"Small town thing?"

"More like a farmer's thing. Farmers post things for sale and when they need a farm hand. I think it's just easier for them to write a note and tack it on a board than to contact the newspaper or work a computer."

"Old school."

"Yep." Everything was old school around there, and no one cared about technology taking over the damn world.

Most residences in Pickleville had fields to harvest. Not everyone farmed but a good enough portion did that everyone else catered to that particular profession. Those who didn't farm usually worked in the next town over at the factory. His mother was one of them.

Jaron would rather work in Pickleville. He didn't have a car. Pickleville had a lot of land so traveling to and from work might prove difficult enough without him going to the next town over.

And he always had Bobby to think about. He wanted to be as close to him as possible all the time, even if Bobby was in school, which would have to happen soon.

"Tell Louisa I said hi."

"If you don't call her soon, she'll have a fit."

Jaron smiled. "I'll do that then. Take care of yourself, Detective."

"Maybe that small town of yours isn't so bad, huh, vato."

Jaron chuckled. "I'll let you know." He'd have to leave the house to find out just how Pickleville would treat him the second time around.

Jaron stuffed the grocery list into his front pocket and locked the front door behind him before putting his keys in with the list. He took Bobby's hand, and they walked together. Main Street wasn't very far away, and Jaron needed the exercise.

"Grandma's at work." Bobby swung their hands between them.

His mom had always worked nights at the factory before. Sometime in the last few years, she changed to the day shift. Despite Jaron not wanting to talk about the past few years and Mom needing to know, having her home every evening made for a pleasant time together. Whenever Tracy came up, his mom let Jaron steer the conversation away. Because she didn't push the issue, Jaron relaxed a little at a time every day.

"Yes."

"Will you go to work too?"

Oh no. The line of questioning wasn't good. So far, neither of them had left the other's sight. They both needed to know nothing bad would happen the way it did to Tracy. No matter how irrational the fear, it still lived inside them. But Jaron was an adult. They'd both have obligations that would separate them for hours out of every weekday.

Despite Bobby's age, even he understood that to some extent.

"Well, if I don't go to work, then I can't buy us what we need."

Bobby looked up at him. His face scrunched as he thought about that. "Like toys."

Jaron chuckled. "Yeah."

"Like a bike?"

"Yep. Exactly like a bicycle." Jaron turned right, heading into town. Main Street lay one street over, but Trenton Street had a sidewalk where part of Main didn't. He didn't want to walk Bobby down the side of the road when a safer route lay a block over.

Well, Pickleville didn't call the space between one road and another blocks. Everyone in Pickleville measured the same space in terms of miles. Two-tenths of a mile. A quarter mile. A half. That sort of thing. Jaron had gotten used to thinking of distance in terms of blocks. It would take a bit to go back to the small-town way.

"Can I go with you to work?"

"I don't know. You'll have to go to school."

Bobby shook his head. "No."

"Other kids are there. You could play with them."

"I don't want too."

"Why not?"

Bobby's shoulders came up to his ears. "I like just you, Papa."

"But you like Grandma too, right?" When Bobby shrugged, he decided to let it go. He wouldn't get anywhere by pushing, and he didn't leave Bobby with strangers anyway. Everyone in town was a stranger except for Mom.

Jaron turned right again. At the second house on the left, a young teenager came out of the front door. He had a guitar in his left hand and a pissed-off expression. His flannel shirt and cowboy boots made him look out of place in that part of town where all the houses sat close together. The guy belonged on a farm somewhere.

Yelling came from inside the house. The teenager winced and hung his head.

"Are you okay? Do you need help?" Jaron couldn't leave the kid to flounder or deal with whatever went on inside.

"'m good. Thanks." He walked past him down the road in the opposite direction.

"Do you need a safe place?" Jaron stopped and turned, watching as he walked away.

"Yeah, just have to call. And I ain't going back to that house."

"Yeah, I wouldn't either if I were you."

A door opened to the house across the street to the one the kid came out of and a little old lady waved. The teenager went right over to her. "I live over on Territorial Street. House number three sixty-five. If you ever need anything."

He nodded and smiled before he went inside. Jaron waited until he heard the lock fall into place before he turned back and kept walking.

"Mommy yelled a lot."

Jaron cleared his throat and forced himself to talk about it the way Bobby needed. "I bet that scared you."

Instead of saying whether it did or not, Bobby kept the conversation on task. "You don't yell."

"Not very often."

"You wouldn't yell at me."

"Did Mommy yell at you?"

Bobby shook her head. "At the bad man. He called me a bad word. She didn't like him doing that."

Jaron wanted to kill that fucker all over again. Tracy might have been a lot of things, but she protected their son with her own life. After all the arguments over her drug use and the disagreements, he wished she were there, so he could tell her how proud she made him. He smiled. "Mommy was so brave."

"We need to be as brave as Mommy, huh?"

"Yeah. We do." Tracy wouldn't want Jaron getting depressed.

She would love that he mourned her loss. She'd laugh her ass off and say that everyone should miss her. I'm way too much fun, Jaron McAllister. You're no fun at all. That's why we balance each other out.

How many times had she said that? Dozens. What Jaron viewed as irresponsible, Tracy had viewed as fun.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he took life too seriously.