“I don’t believe you,” he says, breaking through the roar, if only for a moment. “You won’t walk away from this. You can’t.”
I know he’s right and that’s when I turn and walk out the door, feeling saltwater bile rising at the back of my throat and over my head.
Otter doesn’t follow.
12.
Where Bear Drifts
Out To Sea
I DON’T remember the car ride home.
I’ve always heard people say that, and I always thought how stupid it sounded. How can you not remember driving home? You have to start, stop, move one way or another. Cars drive past you, in front of you, and you still can’t remember the ride itself until you suddenly find yourself sitting in the parking lot of your shitty apartment, gripping the steering wheel so tight you feel that your fingers might just snap, ignoring the black hole that has suddenly formed in the pit of your stomach, wondering why you just made the biggest mistake of your life but knowing it was all because you are a father now, and fathers have to make the tough decisions, those decisions that no one else can make, if only to protect the ones that have been entrusted to them. How can you not remember?
I FINALLY clear my head (wake up? regain consciousness?) and realize I’ve been in the parking lot for a while. The fog outside has seeped its way into the car, and my hands feel chilled, and my neck is stiff. Opening the door, I look at the stairs that lead up to the door where a little boy is waiting for me with hurt in his eyes and venom in his veins. One foot falls in front of the other, and somehow I make it up the steps.
I’ve barely inserted the key into the door when it whips open. Creed is staring at me, the Kid curled in his arms. I try to ignore the sight of his little shoulders shaking.
“What the hell is going on?” Creed hisses.
I’m bone tired, my brain on auto pilot. I slowly push past Creed’s shoulder and close the door behind me. It snicks shut, and I don’t want it to open ever again. I think it’s a fine idea to stay here forever, curled up in a ball in the corner, feeling the gentle current wash over me. Floating is always better than hurting.
“I swear to God, Bear, if you don’t tell me what the hell just happened, I’ll—” Creed begins again.
“You’ll what?” I say quietly. “What will you do?”
This stops him and his eyes narrow. “What did she do to you? Why the hell did she come back?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Tough shit,” he says. “Otter brings the Kid home, and they’re both furious, and all they will tell me is that your mother is with you and that she’s trying to make amends or something.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor. “Or something,” I agree.
His eyes soften, and for a moment, I am startled to see the green and gold that I never noticed he had. It’s duller than Otter’s, but it’s there. I look away.
“Bear, what did she do to you?”
“Do you really want to help me right now?”
He nods.
“Then I need you to do me a favor.”
“I told you. Anything.”
“Go home.” I raise my hand before he can retort. “Go home and leave us alone for now. I know that all you want to do is help. I get that. I love you for that. But I need you to be away from me right now.” I can’t tell him it’s because he looks way to much like his brother and it’s annihilating me.
He still looks like he’s going to protest, but he sees something in my eyes or hears something in my voice, and his shoulders sag. I raise my arms, and he transfers the Kid to me. Sadness rips through me as I feel my little brother tense at the exchange. I think he’s going to struggle but instead, he hooks an arm around my neck and buries his face into my chest. I feel him shake. God. I turn to walk down the hall.
“You have to let me help you,” Creed says, and there’s desperation in his voice. I look back, Lot and a pillar of salt notwithstanding, and he looks almost as lost as I feel. He says, “I remember the last time this happened, how stubborn you were, how strong you had to be. I remember you, Bear. You two can’t do this alone. Please.”
“We are alone,” I say, and I walk down the hall into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
TIME passes. Then:
He shudders in my arms. “She did this, didn’t she?” I hear him whisper.