Fluorescence: The Complete Tetralogy (18 page)

“Let me grab you something.” I ran into the laundry room and pulled open the dryer door.

“Here.” I handed him a fresh towel and helped him out
of his drenched leather jacket. “I’ll hang this in the bathroom
for you.” His shirt and jeans were drenched, too, but we didn’t have extra clothes he could wear.

“Thanks.” He plopped onto a chair at the kitchen table, the vinyl seat squelching beneath him, and then ruffled his hair with the towel.

Mom came back in, her clothes dripping wet. “Okay. I got your bike put in the garage.”

“Thanks.” Brian forced a smile.

“It’s late. What on earth happened, Brian?” Mom sat in the chair across from him. “Why are you…” Her brow furrowed. “Wait, give me your shoes. They’re soaking wet.”

He kicked off his black sneakers and she scooped them up and took them into the kitchen. There, she laid out a stack of paper towels and set his shoes on top. She flipped on the nearby electric kettle and sat back down at the table. “Anyway,” she said, tightening the belt on her robe again, “Why were you out driving in this weather? And at this hour?”

Brian rubbed the towel against the back of his head. “I came home from work and ended up getting into a fight with my mom. She told me to get out. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“She can’t do that!” Mom scowled. “What on earth were
you fighting about?” Her jaw tightened. “Never mind
. Regardless of what you two were fighting about, she’s not allowed to throw you out like this. You’re still a juvenile. It’s against the law. I’ll call the police.” She was halfway up from her seat already.

“Please, don’t!” Brian dropped the towel into his lap. “I don’t want to go back right now. Not with her acting like this. You don’t know how crazy she can get.”

“What did she do to you, Brian?” My mother stood and walked over to him. She lifted her fingers to his face and swept his damp hair away from his forehead. “What did she
say to you?” Her eyes narrowed with concern and she cupped
his cheek in her hand. “You can tell me, you know. Really. You can.”

Brian fidgeted in his seat.

“She didn’t do anything to me,” he replied, driving my mom’s hand away as gently as he could. “And I… don’t really want to talk about it. It’s stupid shit, really. Look, I can pay for a hotel room, but I can’t check myself in because I’m not old enough. I swear to God I won’t cause any trouble. I just need someplace to crash for a day or two. That’s it. She’ll cool down after that and I’ll go back.”

Mom crossed her arms, screwing her mouth up to one
side. “What kind of mother throws out her son in the middle
of the night during a thunderstorm and then tells him to fend for himself? I’d like to give her a piece of my mind.”

“The same kind of mom that thinks her son is gay because
he likes to draw,” I said, rolling my eyes and sticking out my tongue.

Mom stared in shock, her mouth hanging open. “You’re kidding me?”

“Nope. He told me that waaaay back when I first met him.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and looked at Brian sympathetically. “Oh, goodness, Brian. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how anyone could make such an assumption simply because you’re an artist.”

The hot water kettle clicked off and she got up and went to grab a mug from out of the cupboard. “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?” She dunked a sachet of chamomile tea into the hot water and brought the cup over to the table, tossing a little glass coaster underneath it. The rising steam drifted toward me, teasing my nostrils with a subtle grassy scent.

“I… I didn’t want anyone else worrying.” He wrapped himself up in the towel and held it closed at his neck. “I also never thought it’d get this bad.” He arched over the teacup and closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath of steam.

“We’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. Alice, go get him one of my old
robes to wear so he can change out of his clothes and we can dry
them. Oh, and grab some fresh sheets for the downstairs guest room.”

“On it.” I rushed off into the laundry room to gather everything.

I’d just finished making up the bed when Brian came down the basement stairs and into the room, still wearing his wet clothes.

“Hey,” he said, carrying the towel I’d given him earlier. “I really appreciate this.”

“How was the tea?”

“Good. I think it helped, actually.”

“Chamomile can do a lot. Mom’s quite the expert with tea.”

“I believe you.” He smiled and then glanced at my necklace. “You really do like it, don’t you?” He cracked a smile, his teeth showing a little.

I clasped my hand over the silver dolphin and polished it lovingly with my fingers. “Yes. Mom said you can change out of your clothes and we’ll put them in the dryer upstairs.” I took the wet towel from him. “It’s late. Grab them in the morning if you want or I can bring them down for you. Do you think you’ll need anything else tonight?”

“Just you,” he said, his eyes narrowing gratefully. “But that will always be the case.” He reached out to trace his cold fingers across my cheek. “I’m not going to overstay my welcome here, that’s for sure. Your mom’s amazing. Thank her for me, please.”

“I will. Leave your clothes at the top of the stairs and I’ll take care of them.”

“Thank you, Alice.” He sat on the edge of the guest bed. “I know we need to get to sleep, but… can I tell you a secret? Before you go? I just… need to get this off my chest.”

“You can tell me anything.” I sat beside him and put a hand on his thigh. His jeans were damp.

“After my dad was killed overseas, my mom became really depressed. She started drinking… a lot. And mixing up her medications. Then she…” He took a deep breath and exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “She… tried to commit suicide.”

“Oh, God.” I covered my mouth. I’d
heard
about people attempting suicide, but I’d never personally known anyone who had come close to trying.

“Luckily, I was able to stop her before it was too late. Threw out the rest of the damn pills before she could…” He paused again and cleared his throat. “I’ve never told anyone else about it.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I was barely twelve at the time. Child services would have snatched me up in a freaking minute. I didn’t want to be taken away from home, so I had to do what I could to make things better.”

“What did you do?” I leaned closer, my fingers unconsciously pressing into his leg.

“I convinced her to see a doctor. She got put on a different antidepressant for a while. It helped, but only so much. Then she started having mood swings and acting like a completely different person. Eventually, she stopped taking the medication. Ever since, I’ve had to tiptoe everywhere to keep her from flipping out on me. Now it seems like every damn thing I do sets her off.”

“She seemed okay, at the Christmas party.”

“She was back on them then, too.”

“Oh…”

“Now she’s off again. Threatening to quit her job and move back to Montana. Asking me what I’ve been doing with my money and where I go every day, even after I’ve told her a hundred times. Talking crazy stuff. I don’t know what to do. I’m worried about her, but I’m more worried about myself.” He clutched my hand tightly and stared at me with tired, fearful eyes. “I have way too much to lose now, Alice.” His eyes shimmered with tears, but he resisted them.

“I’ll take care of you, Brian, as best I can. You can stay with us for a little while, like my mom said. That will give your mom time to clear her head.”

“That’s fine and all and I appreciate your mom letting me stay, but it won’t make things better forever. I’ve been struggling with my mom on and off for years. One minute she’s fine and then the next…”

“Alice!” Mom called from the top of the stairs.

“I’m coming! Just a sec!” I looked at Brian and
shrugged. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” He swallowed hard. “Thank you for listening
anyway. You’re a great girlfriend, and an even greater friend.”

“You’re welcome.” I stood and he walked me to the base of the stairs where he hesitated to release my hand.

I pushed up off my toes and kissed him on the cheek, half-expecting him to veer his head and catch me on the lips, but he didn’t. I dropped back down to my heels.

“Goodnight, Brian,” I said, and headed upstairs. Halfway to the top,
I looked over my shoulder, took one last glance at him, and blew him a kiss.

His brows twitched, fighting back a frown, but he mustered the strength to put on a smile for me.

“Goodnight, Alice.”

Chapter 27

“
S
leep okay?” I fluffed the back of Brian’s hair with my fingertips and bent down to nuzzle his ear, smelling a hint of fabric softener. He sat at the kitchen table, hunched over a stack of printer paper, drawing.

“Well enough. Yes.” His attention didn’t break from his work.

“Do you need anything?”

“No.” He squinted, tilted his head, and then darkened a line of ink with several strokes of his pen.

I sat beside him, peering over his arm.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Something I thought of last night. I needed to get it out.”

“Oh?” I cocked my head and leaned closer. It looked like a comic book page. He was on the last part. The top panel showed his deer-antlered superhero climbing up the side of a building, his cape whipping in the wind. The middle panel looked as though the man were slipping off his hood and mask. The bottom panel was white—unfinished.

“Is this for your comic?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you come up with a name yet?”

Brian reached under the stack of paper for another page. He flipped it over and passed it to me.

Staggered Hart,
it read, in stylized rough-edged script, fitted inside a jagged heart outline.

“
Oh, this is awesome! Great wordplay, by the way. I
think it fits him well.”

“Thanks.” He continued sketching, fixated on the page. Like magic, an image took shape before my eyes. It was almost machine-like, how diligent and precise his strokes were. Each stroke carefully calculated and placed on top of faint, sketchy pencil lines. I watched him quietly, mesmerized by his craft, until Mom came out of her room.

“Good morning, Alice.”

“Morning, Mom.”

“You get anything to eat yet, Brian?” Mom opened up the pantry above the sink and rummaged through the cereal boxes.

He shook his head.

“Alice. Why don’t you get him something?” She switched
on the tea kettle.

Me? I didn’t know how to make anything that required more than pouring milk or stirring in chocolate chips.

“Like what?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Brian looked up at me from his page, a fleeting grin swept across his lips. “I’ll make something.”

“You’re our guest, Brian,” Mom replied. “We can make you breakfast.”

“No, really,” he insisted, standing up from his chair. “I can scramble eggs, or cook toast, or whatever you want. I’ve been making my own meals for years now.”

My heart sunk. Really? So his mom didn’t even cook for him? I felt privileged all of a sudden.

Mom frowned.

“I’m finished with this page.” He slid it to me and I glanced over it.

In the bottom panel, the Hart could only be seen from the neck down, grasping his headdress in his arms, one of the antlers broken, dangling by a shred.

“Looks kind of sad,” I said.

“It is. He’s debating whether or not he wants to keep doing what he’s doing or go back to what he thinks is easier. A life of crime.”

“That’s terrible. I hope he makes the right decision.”

“Me, too,” said Brian, aligning all of his pages together between his hands and then tapping them against the table to straighten the stack. “Anyway, what do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know.”

Mom pulled a tray of eggs from out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter.

“French toast?” Mom asked, twirling off the metal tie on a loaf of Texas toast.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

“Brian, do you know how to make French toast?” Mom reached for a mixing bowl from on top of the refrigerator.

“Can’t say I do.”

“Want to learn?” She offered him a whisk. “Might get your mind off things for a while.”

“Sure.”

The tired look in his eyes faded. He seemed excited about the idea. I was happy for him, and at the idea of Brian cooking for me.

I sat quietly at the kitchen table, watching them work. Mom pointed at the griddle, turned a knob, told him how to avoid overcooking and how to mix the egg batter her special way. Brian paid close attention, working alongside her.

Mom set a bowl of cinnamon sugar on the table and asked Brian to take the butter from the fridge. He stood in front of the open refrigerator for a moment, trying to locate it.

“On the top shelf on the left,” she said, pointing from the other side of the kitchen.

“Got it.” He pulled out the stick and brought it to the table.

We had breakfast together, as a sort of extended family. A perfect Saturday morning.

“Are you working today?” Mom asked, taking up our empty plates from the table.

“Yeah. But not until 2:00.” He stood up and started a mini tug-of-war with Mom over dish-duty.

“I will not have you doing the dishes for us,” she said, staring him down until he relinquished his plate. “You’re a guest right now, and I won’t have you acting like you’re at work. Relax, Brian. Just sit down and enjoy the off time while you can.”

He shrugged, defeated, and flopped back down in the chair beside me, crossing his arms.

“Where do you work anyway?” Mom set the stack of plates in the sink and twisted on the faucet. The water gurgled.

“The French-American grill downtown.”

“Jacques’?”

“Yeah.”

“One of my friends has been there. She told me it was a pretty fancy place.”

“It’s nice, yeah.”

Mom looked at me and tipped her head to the side. “That’s where he took you when he brought his bike over, wasn’t it?”