Fluorescence: The Complete Tetralogy (26 page)

She wrinkled her lips to the side. “You’re a kid, Brian. What the hell do you know about anything?”

Her attitude sickened me.

“Enough to know life is valuable and worth living,” I replied. “Something you still haven’t learned, apparently. No thanks to you, I now understand what it feels like to love
and be loved by someone. There are so many people out there
who fight every day just to stay alive—just to get by. And here you are with everything you
need and you throw it away to some damn pills
because life’s getting too hard. Because
you’re too goddamn cowardly to suck it up and move on. You keep making up excuses about how life seems so hard, instead of trying to make it better. Dad died and he’s not coming back. Killing yourself isn’t going to change that. Treating me like crap won’t either. I don’t deserve this. Not after everything I’ve done to keep your head above water.”

My lip quivered. I clenched my teeth, tightening my grip on the cold bed railing. “You keep treating me the way you have and I might not be there at all next time. Think about that.” I turned my back on her and headed for the door.

“Brian, wait. Brian!”

I ignored her and walked back to the lobby.

“Well?” Alice asked, standing up from her seat and staring anxiously at me, her hands entwined. “How is she?”

“She’s well enough to act like a smartass, so apparently she’s fine.”

“Oh.” Alice sat down and frowned. “I’m sorry.” Her voice
lowered.

“Don’t be. She’s never going to change.” I flopped back onto my seat and reached over to take the bag from the table beside me. “Thanks again, Jane,” I said with a grateful smile. Alice handed me her to-go cup and I took a sip of the five dollar, so-much-better-than-hospital-tea tea.

There were more people in the ER now than there had been last night when I’d arrived, but I didn’t care. I had the only people I needed with me and didn’t feel lonely anymore. Alice and I sat there talking for a little while until a police officer and a woman sauntered in and caught our
attention. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their conversation with the receptionist. I heard my name and my mom’s being thrown around and I perked up in my seat, wishing I had superhuman hearing.

The receptionist pointed at me and then the two came strolling over to where I sat. I shifted in my chair. Alice sat up.

“Brian?” The tall, dark-skinned woman asked. She had her hair pulled back into a tight bun and wore a grey pant suit and bright red lipstick. The officer stood behind her and crossed his arms, glaring at me like he was expecting me to do something stupid. Or like maybe he was hoping I would?

“Yes?” I got out of my seat.

“Let me introduce myself.” She took an ID card out of
her pocket and showed it to me. Government-issued of some
kind. “My name is Angelica Barnes. I’m with the Department
of Social Services. We’re here because your mother is scheduled for a mental health evaluation later this week and, in the meantime, we need to place you somewhere you will be safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” I sneered. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“Well, you may believe that, but according to the law, you
are a minor, and as long as your mother is in the custody of the hospital for psychiatric care, you are without a legal guardian.”

“We can take him in.” Jane came to my side.

“And you are?” Angelica looked down her nose at Alice’s mother.

“I’m Jane… um…
Alice’s
mother. She’s… well, we’re friends
of the family,” she stammered.

“Do you have a letter or note from the child’s mother
stating your responsibility for guardianship in her absence?”

“No, but…”

“Well then, I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you’ll have to file a petition with the court for custody.”

“How long will that take?” I asked, my pulse racing.

“A few weeks or more usually. It depends on how quickly
the paperwork is turned in and how soon we can have
someone
come and evaluate the petitioner’s living arrangements
for suitability.”

“Weeks? But…” My voice broke. “How will I go to work and school and—”

“We’ll arrange for that,” Angelica interrupted. “You’ll be able to continue working and attending school, but we’ll have to place you in an emergency foster home until either your mother’s health improves or,” she looked at Jane, “your petition is approved by a judge.”

“Alice?” I looked desperately to her. It was a gut reaction;
I knew she couldn’t help me.

“You’ll have to come with us, Brian,” Angelica said.

“I… No.”

“Please. Don’t make this difficult for us.”

The officer stepped up and firmly took me by the arm. I gasped.

Shit.

“Jane?” She shook her head and frowned. “Alice?” I looked
at her and she shrugged, fear and uncertainty glistening in her eyes.

Is this really happening?

“Come on, son.” The police officer tugged on the sleeve of my jacket.

“Brian!” Alice went for my hand. I held back just long enough for her to wrap her fingers around mine and reach up and kiss me goodbye. “Be safe! Please!”

“He’ll be just fine, young lady,” Angelica said, and then rolled her eyes after she turned away from Alice. She’d done
this before, apparently. Pulled kids away from their significant
others. Just another lovesick teenager.

What would the Saviors do now? What would Alice do?

Sitting in the back of the police car during the drive, all I
kept thinking about was losing my job. Losing the one chance
I had at freedom. Yeah, I could get another job, but I liked the one I had. I made decent money. I’d made enough to almost pay off my bike completely. That job was my first step toward being a responsible adult.

The officer drove me downtown to the social services building where he let me out and clutched me by my sleeve like he thought I was going to make a dash for it. Couldn’t blame him, as I’d thought about it already. But resisting the authorities is never a good idea. Especially when your future is in their hands.

I was invited into a small office where Angelica and another woman were seated behind a long desk.

“We pulled your mother’s medical history. She’s got quite a background, Brian,” Angelica said, shuffling through a manila folder with a bunch of papers inside.

I sat down in a chair, crossed my arms and looked away. “And?”

“We’re concerned about your home environment,” the
other woman chimed in. Her name was Barbara, if the business
cards on the desk were, in fact, hers.

“Look, I’m fine, okay? What do you want from me? I’ve never had any trouble with her. I don’t get into fights at school or anything. Not anymore. I just want to go home. I can take care of myself.”

“The law does not classify you as an adult until you are eighteen,” Angelica said. “You know this, Brian.”

“Yeah, whatever. So what does all this mean for me?”

“According to your mother’s medical history, she’s been on and off antidepressants for several years now. Any previous suicide attempts?”

Yes.

I swallowed hard.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to lie to us, Brian.”
Barbara leaned over the desk and stared at me with concern. I felt like they were playing good social worker, bad social worker with me.

“Yes. I’m sure. She’s had some problems, but this hasn’t happened before.”

I wasn’t lying, technically. She hadn’t gone this far before
, since before this I’d always stopped her.

“So, no previous suicide attempts then?”

“No.” I fixated on a plaque in the back of the room. An award certificate of some kind.

Angelica scribbled something down.

“Any abuse in the home? Verbal or physical?”

I furrowed my brow. “Seriously? Do I look like I’ve been abused?”

“Most people who are in abusive relationships don’t look
the part, Brian,” Barbara added.

I was already tired of talking to them.

“I’m fine. My mom has her job. I have mine. We live in
the same house, but we don’t get in each other’s way. There’s
no law against just keeping to yourself. I’m not starving. I’m not homeless. I’m fine. Okay? Can I go?”

I wanted the nightmare to end.

“I’m sorry, Brian. No.” Barbara stood up and handed me a stack of papers. “Here’s some information on the process you’re going to go through. You’re going to be placed into an emergency foster home for now until either someone steps up to claim guardianship or—”

“Jesus! You’re kidding me. A foster home? Seriously? I’m sixteen, for God’s sake, not five.” I clenched my teeth.

“It’s the law, Brian. We’re just doing what we have to until we receive the full psychiatric evaluation back from your mother’s physician. We’ll have Officer Parston take you to your temporary foster home shortly. We’re just waiting for confirmation from the family.”

A lump formed in my throat and I could hardly swallow.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

Chapter 8

T
he temp family lived halfway across town.

The Jamesons—Thomas and Sue—were an older couple with an adopted ten-year-old son from China they’d named Peter.

They allowed me to pick up my motorcycle and keep it in their garage, even though the mother—Sue—had told me to my face
how adamantly she was against boys my age having a license. My brain wasn’t mature enough to handle the dangers of driving, she said. But I had a job to keep and a girlfriend to see, so she’d have to deal.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Brian,” said Thomas, carrying a large, steaming cup of coffee over to the kitchen table and sitting in a chair across from me. With his thinning brown hair, peppered with grey, his wrinkled temples and the bifocals he used to read his newspaper, he had a friendly, grandfatherly air about him. His deep-set golden hazel eyes looked at me with genuine concern, something I wasn’t accustomed to at home.

“I’ll be okay. I just, no offense, need to get back to my normal life.” I sipped from my mug of hot tea and kept my head down. Peter was sitting at the other end of the table on the edge of his seat, gawking at me like I was some kind of rock star. To him, having another “boy” in the house was a dream come true, and he hadn’t hesitated to tell me this within twenty minutes of our introduction.

The Jameson’s home was larger than mine, roomy but cozy. Reminiscent of something from the older days. Beige stucco walls. Crown molding. Furniture upholstered with floral patterns. Old paintings and photos hanging in various places. The rustic smell of cinnamon and orange potpourri reminded me of Thanksgiving.

Over a dinner of homemade lasagna and garlic bread, Sue told me the story of their daughter, Grace, who had died several years back while serving with the police task force. At only twenty-two, she had suffered a fatal shot to the chest during an armed robbery. She’d been trying to assist a hostage.

“She probably would have had a thing for you when she was your age,” Sue said, looking past me at a photograph on the kitchen wall. “She liked the rough-around-the-edges type. Always being adventurous. Backpacking. Swimming. Biking. Anything to get out of the house and keep moving. She was stubborn sometimes, but she always worried about others more than herself.”

She did sound a bit like me. I’d do anything to get out of
the house, but probably for a very different reason than Grace
had had. I felt bad for their loss. They seemed like a really sweet couple. No one should have to deal with the pain of outliving their child.

Thomas and Sue also told me they had gotten married right out of high school—over thirty years ago. It reaffirmed my belief that Alice and I really had a chance.

If any good came out of this foster home business, it wo
uld be the inspiration to keep my head up and believe in
us
.

Even though my own life had just been thrust into chaos
, I started worrying about my Mom’s. Social services had warned me not to contact her directly until they had finished their investigation. Still, I thought about her.

I also thought about how long I might be stuck with this family. How long Peter would have a “foster brother,” as he was already excitedly calling me. How long before I could see Alice on my time and not someone else’s.

These thoughts rattled me. I didn’t sleep much at all the first few nights. Instead, I stayed up texting Alice until just past midnight, when Thomas would come in to ask if I needed anything. He was a night owl, too.

“No, but thanks,” I’d reply, forcing a grin.

I just wanted to go back to school.

I wanted to see Alice.

I wanted normalcy.

. . .

Peter eagerly awaited my presence at the breakfast table.

“Good morning, Brian!” he said with a huge, toothy grin. He was kneeling on his chair. “Can you show me your motorcycle after school today? Pleeeeeease?” He teetered on his seat.

“Knees off the chair, Peter,” Sue scolded.

He plopped down onto his butt and slumped over. “Sorry,
Mom.”

“Did you get any sleep, Brian?” she asked, pulling some cereal boxes out of the cupboard.

I shrugged. “Not really.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s hard, but maybe you’ll feel better after you get a little more adjusted here.”

“Maybe.” I sat at the table across from Peter and fidgeted with the place setting. Fabric napkins, ruffled and tucked into napkin rings. Ceramic bowls—not flimsy plastic ones. The robust, undeniable scent of freshly brewed coffee infusing the air.

“Is cereal okay or would you like something else? We have granola. Waffles. I could make you some scrambled eggs if—”

“Cereal’s fine, thanks,” I interrupted.