~Carter~
Finding myself under my father's roof again, I felt my head swimming. I was holding Jude upright, but I felt like I was the one who might fall. The air seemed too thick. The light shifted like it couldn't decided if it was lighting the past or the present.
As I walked through the front door of the house, I was five, rushing in and running into my mother's arms. She hugged me tightly and called me young man, because it made me feel grown up. Getting a kiss from her, smelling her perfume, I knew I was home.
Instead of my own mother, Jude's mother waited just inside. An anxious look on her face, she rushed forward then hesitated. Her blue eyes turned to me both grateful and imploring, and so much like Jude's.
Jude stuck to his story with his mother as well, and brushed off what happened as just a random attack. With Jude's mother walking ahead of us, I helped him to his room. It used to be one of the guest rooms and its furniture was pretty much the same.
The desk under the window used to be one of my favorite hiding places. When a bird built a nest in a tree right outside the window, I climbed on that desk watching and waiting for the eggs to hatch.
Jude's stuff was in the room now. His clothes hung in the closet and there were a lot of books everywhere. I guess he liked to read.
Jude's mom pulled back the cover from the neatly made bed and helped him to lie down. As he leaned back against the pillows, I could see how hard he worked to hide his pain from her. I wondered what else he was hiding, though this wasn't the time to ask him about it.
Now that I got him here, it was time for me to leave. I was about to let Jude know I was going, when I saw a shadow in the doorway. Turning, I was shocked to see an old man standing there, leaning heavily on the doorframe.
At first I didn't recognize him, but that changed in a flash and I thought my heart might stop beating. He wasn't really as old as he seemed at first. He was drawn and pale, and painfully thin. His brow furrowed, and his gaze shifted from me to Jude.
"I was going to tell you we have a visitor," Jude's mom said and looked from my father to me.
While I stood there stunned, Jude grabbed my hand like he was afraid I would flee from the house at the sight of my father. The truth was right now I couldn't budge an inch. All I could do was stare at my father like he was a ghost.
My father slowly made his way into the room and came over to stand over Jude's bed. After a brief look at me, Jude's mother went over to support his arm.
"What is this? What happened?" he asked Jude. He almost sounded like he was scolding a child. "Who did this?"
"Some guy jumped me. Didn't get anything for his trouble before he ran off," Jude said and gave him a weak smile. He didn't seem to mind my father's gruff demeanor.
"Have you spoken to the police?" my father asked.
"I'm too tired to deal with them. I just wanted to rest. Like I told you, the guy ran off. I'll go into the police station tomorrow to file a report." Jude was lying again. I was sure of it.
My father seemed to accept what Jude told him. "As long as you're all right," he said. I didn't expect him to be so concerned about Jude, but it was obvious that he was. Just the walk to Jude's room had obviously cost him some serious effort.
Jude noticed the same thing. My father was trying not to lean too much on Jude's mom, but he was unsteady on his feet and his breathing was labored.
"You're not supposed to push yourself," Jude reminded him.
"You should go and rest too," Jude's mom told my father. Her eyes shifted to me. "Can you help him back to bed, please?"
Holding my breath, I waited for my father to say that he didn't want my help, but he said nothing. I was surprised. That left it up to me.
Though I knew Jude's mother was setting me up, I couldn't refuse her, not while her son was all bruised and beaten up right there. Jude was looking up at me, and I could feel him willing me to say yes.
I might as well, if I didn't help my father, Jude's mother would have to do it. I didn't want to take her away from Jude when she was so worried about him.
I went over to my father and took his arm lightly, letting him pull away if he chose to. He didn't. He accepted my help without reaction or comment. I wished that I could be so impassive.
Touching him after so many years, I couldn't help but flinch. I tried not to hear those words again—"You're not my son."
I flinched for other reasons too. My father wasn't the same man I remembered. Under my hand, his arm was thin, shaking. He looked so much older and shrunken down to the bone. The old handsomeness I remembered was nowhere to be seen now.
As we neared the master bedroom door, I got ready for another blow. That was my parents' bedroom once. I knew I would find it changed, and I tried to steel myself against the memories and pain it would bring.
On opening the door, what I found was that my parent's bedroom had been turned into a sickroom. The curtains stood open, letting in the slanting, red light of the sunset. An oxygen tank stood by the bed. There were pills within reach on the nightstand and an armchair by my father's bedside.
"I got so worried when I heard Jude was hurt," my father said, startling me. I guess I half expected him to grudgingly allow me to help but not to speak to me at all. "He had it rough, and he's a good, considerate kid."
He sounded fond of Jude as he sang his praises. I didn't begrudge him that. I knew Jude was all those things, but hearing it still set my teeth on edge. I guess I just couldn't help thinking of Jude as my substitute.
Watching my father slowly sit down on the edge of the bed, I stood there without saying any of the things that crowded my mind. I didn't demand that he acknowledge me as his son. I didn't tell him what happened to Mom or scream at him that he was responsible.
Since I couldn't bring myself to speak up, I decided to just leave. He got into bed and I turned to go. That's when I heard him start to speak again, his breathing labored after every few words.
"When it all happened, I didn't realize that life would be so long or so short."
I turned back to look at him. What he was saying came out of nowhere and didn't make any sense. I wondered if he was losing it.
Noticing my confusion, he asked. "Have you heard people say that days are long but years are short?"
I shook my head.
"I lived alone for a long time before I met your mother. It wasn't difficult. I was all right with it. I kept busy and didn't bother missing what I didn't have." He spoke haltingly with a distant look in his eyes. "But once a man has had a family and he loses it, he can't go back to being alone and at ease without the whole house echoing with voices—a child laughing, even your mother crying and doors slamming, or that time when the bird flew in through the window and you said that it must want to come and live with us. Days and nights stretch on and on, too damn long, and then out of nowhere life hands you a pink slip and your time is up."
I listened to him without a comment, but I was seething inside, sick from his talk of some nameless man and his lost family. Mom's time ran out years ago.
I couldn't hold it back any longer, so I told him about it. "I looked for you at Mom's funeral. Clutching the camellia I was going to put on her coffin, I couldn't stop glancing around. When I went up to set down the single flower right above her unbeating heart, when I went to sob out my last goodbye, I wanted to be able to tell her, 'Dad is here. He came.' But you never showed, and by the time I went up there to give her that flower, I couldn't even form words." Finally I was able to let out some of what I wanted to say to him, but now my eyes threatened to flow with tears and my chest was constricting.
"I'm sorry," he croaked.
"Not sorry enough. You still think you're in the right." It was just a guess on my part.
He shook his head on the pillow, but not to deny it. "You're young. You don't know how much betrayal hurts."
"Betrayal?" I said and nearly screamed out the word. I took a ragged breath through my rage. "I don't know about betrayal? You betrayed us. You destroyed our family, and you destroyed Mom."
He shook his head again. "Hate me if you want. If your mother was still alive, she could set you straight. Neither one of us was innocent."
I couldn't take any more. I stormed out then stopped dead in the hall. His words kept echoing in my head. I was only a kid. There must have been things I didn't know. My mom never talked to me about what happened. No. I wouldn't doubt her now.
Wanting only to escape, I was ready to charge through the front door and get the hell out of here. I stopped myself though. Jude's room was only a few feet away. I couldn't leave without looking in on him. He looked so terrible. I knew I wouldn't be able to close my eyes tonight if I left without seeing him again.
I found Jude's mom in his room. Kind and soft-spoken, she was watching over Jude like he was the most precious thing to her. The two of them had been through so much.
As I stood in the doorway, I noticed that the room was more shadowed than before. It was fully night now. Jude spotted me lurking there and then his mom turned to me as well.
"I was just on my way out," I said.
"Oh," she said and looked disappointed. Jude didn't look happy about that either.
"I could sit with him if you have something to do," I offered on impulse.
She nodded and stood up. "I'm worried he might have a concussion, so I don't want to leave him alone," she explained.
"I can stay for a little while," I said.
Jude's mom left and I went over to his bed.
"You have ulterior motives for kicking her out of here?" Jude asked me. He was too sharp for his own good.
"I didn't kick her out."
As I dropped into the chair where his mom had been sitting, I felt tired. At the same time, I had the urge to stay over and watch over Jude all night. But there was no way. I couldn't spend the night in this house.
Once I was out of here, how far would I get? As worried as I was, I might end up right outside, sleeping in my car. I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to guard Jude. He was hiding something.
He had a different topic on his mind. "So you and your dad talked."
"You're delirious," I told him.
"I guess it didn't go great, but please don't give up," Jude urged me.
I didn't want to rehash the conversation with my father. I wanted to talk about what Jude was hiding, but he decided he had to check some texts about his friend, Dave. By the time he finished his mother came in with a bowl of soup.
"I made this for Scott, but now you can have some too," she said and handed it to Jude.
With her in and out of the room, I couldn't get anywhere with Jude. If I wanted to get to the bottom of this, I had to stick around. While I lingered, Jude eyed me suspiciously.
From the way she hovered, I had a feeling Jude's mother would stay up with him all night. I thought about just letting her do that, but then I realized she would probably have plenty of work to do tomorrow.
When it got late, I told her, "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll stay up with Jude."
"I can't ask you to do that," she said.
"I can stay up with him tonight, but I won't be here in the morning. That's when he'll need you," I told her. I didn't know if she would listen to me, but she looked past me at Jude. He nodded and smiled at her, and she sighed and left us alone.
I waited a while longer until the house went quiet. Now Jude and I were alone and not likely to be disturbed. One lamp was on in his room, giving off a dim glow from the other side of Jude's bedside. His eyes were a deeper blue as he watched me and waited.
There was an unmistakable tension in the air between us when I finally spoke up. "Now that your mother has gone to bed, it's time you tell me what is really going on. Why were you lying to me and to everyone else?"
Jude looked up at the ceiling instead of at me. "I'm sorry. It's because of my mom but also your dad. I don't want to upset him."
"What does my father have to do with it?" I asked.
"Your dad is the reason that guy who attacked me left town, and now he's back. Your dad would be upset if he knew. He's in no condition to deal with it."
I still didn't know what was going on. "So who is this guy?"
From his expression, I could tell Jude didn't want to talk about him. He closed his eyes and set his jaw, then he said, "He used to be the super where we lived. His name is Rooster."
"Rooster?" I said to make sure I heard him right.
"That's what he liked to call himself. He has a tattoo of a rooster on his chest," Jude said and shook his head. The motion must have hurt him because he winced.
"Not a dragon or an eagle with a rattlesnake in its beak?"
"When I asked him why, he said, 'What's another word for rooster?' Then he winked," Jude said and his mouth twisted with disgust.
"Classy. Tell me about him," I said. I knew it sounded like a demand, but I had to know who gave him these bruises and cuts. Even in the dim light, they stood out on his pale face and filled me with sorrow and rage.