“Thomas, how did you get here?”
He jerks a thumb back at my mother’s Toyota Highlander parked across the street.
“Is she in the car?”
“Nope. She’s at home.”
“You’re not supposed to be driving. And…” I reach out and touch the side of his face, which, despite the blaze of the welt, is chilled. “What happened to you?” And then I put it together before he even has a chance to answer.
“She hit you,” I say.
“Jesus, Alice, it’s cold as a bitch out here. Can I come in?”
“Yes…sorry.” I stand aside as he shuffles in.
“It’s two in the goddamned afternoon,” he says. “You’re still in a bathrobe? Must be fuckin’ nice.”
I shut the door and wonder for the thousandth time what happened to the Thomas I grew up with. We were never alike, and it was a rare occasion when someone would tell us we resembled each other. Our personalities were just as disparate: I was the shy one, borderline withdrawn. Thomas was always outgoing, friendly to a fault, the golden retriever of the family. Even when he was thirteen, a full year before he got sick but at a time most boys turn into real shits, Thomas was always the sweet one.
This was after my assault, so I was detached from the world, disappearing into my room at every chance, but Thomas would come to my room and talk to me through my door, trying to get me to come out. He’d sit on the floor in our apartment and read me the most stupid knock-knock jokes he could find, playing both the asker and the answerer. The jokes were like smoke grenades: deployed effectively, they always succeeded in flushing me out. He was annoying but sweet. Always cheerful. And he never swore.
I force myself to remember he can’t control who he is, and I need to dig deep into my patience.
“I’m not working today,” I say. “I can’t believe you drove so far in this weather. I can’t believe you drove at all. You don’t even have a license.”
“I had to get out of there, since she sure doesn’t want me the fuck around. I had nowhere to go. Thought about wrapping the Toyota around a few utility poles along the way, but I ended up making it here unscathed.”
“Did she really hit you?”
“What does it look like?”
“Why?”
“Who the hell knows? We were arguing, and I might have called her a filthy whore.”
“Thomas!”
He shrugs. “I meant it ironically. I mean, who would even touch that? I guess she doesn’t have a sense of irony. She sucker punched me.”
“Did you…”
“Hit her back?” he asks. “Of course not. But not because I didn’t want to.” He shakes snow off his long, unkempt hair. “I’m just afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop. That I’d just fucking kill the bitch, right there. Boom.”
“Thomas, quit talking like that.”
“It’s true,” he tells me.
“Thomas…she’s trying, you know? She had no right to hit you. Of course not. But she has a lot to deal with.”
“You mean she has to deal with me.”
“Well—”
“You’re right, she has to. I know. I’m a goddamn mess. I get it. But she’s never done this before. She usually just yells.”
I turn from him and grab my phone, dial.
“Are you—”
“Shhh,” I tell him.
My mother doesn’t answer. I leave a message.
“I wanted to tell you Thomas is with me, and what you did to him is inexcusable. I can’t believe you hit him. He’s staying with me at least until we can figure this mess out.”
I disconnect the call, wondering if she’ll even bother to call back. I have a sudden urge to smash my phone against the wall, then run into the kitchen and smash plates, glasses, breaking everything that can possibly be broken. The desire to see the shards of shattered objects makes my mouth water.
“Can I really stay here?” he asks me. His face softens, and for a moment, I see my brother, my real brother, the one buried deep beneath the disdain.
“For now,” I say. “But…” I decide to tell him, not to protect him, but in a hope he will protect me. “There are some things going on with me right now. I’m not sure this house is the safest place to be.”
“Are you having your panic attacks? I mean, it being the anniversary and all.”
“God, Thomas, stop reminding me. No, it’s not that.”
“Dad’s book,” he says.
“That’s part of it.”
“What else?”
The antique clock on my wall chimes. I hate that clock, but I don’t get rid of it because it was my grandmother’s. Every time it chimes, it make me think of a heart’s last beat. I glance over at it. God, is it really already two?
“Let me get dressed,” I say. “I need to get out of here.”
Minutes later, I’m back downstairs, and we head out the front door. I pause to look at the planter box with the snow scraped off one side of it. I must stare too long, because Thomas asks, “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I say.
We trudge through the snow, which has finally stopped falling. Thomas only has sneakers but doesn’t complain. It’s a short but messy trudge to the Rose, and this time, I walk in through the front entrance, not the back. James is playing on the sound system. The song’s title is not lost on me. “Out to Get You.”
Brenda stands behind the counter. She looks at me, and it takes me a moment to remember I’d told her about the website. I bite off the regret I feel, forcing it down. Screw it, I think. It’s okay for her to know.
I walk up. “How’s it going today?” I ask.
“Quiet. Postapocalyptic quiet. Lucky for me, since Dan called in sick and it’s just been me here.”
Goddamn it. I’m glad I didn’t smash my phone, because now I get to use it to make a very satisfying call. Dan doesn’t answer. It seems he and my mother are hiding from me. So I leave a message for him as well.
“Dan, it’s Alice. In case you don’t remember, you’ve already used up your sick days. So don’t bother coming back in. And I know this little job wasn’t your career aspiration, but I hope getting fired motivates you to think about what you want to do with your life. And if it doesn’t do that, I hope it just pisses you off.”
I disconnect.
“Wow,” Brenda says.
“Brenda, I’m sorry. I can’t help you today. I know it sucks, but I just can’t. I need to spend some time with my brother. There are things going on.”
She nods, and in her expression, I can tell she’s up to speed with the history of my life.
“It’s okay, Alice. Really.”
“And I’m adding a five-hundred-dollar bonus to your pay this week.” Much better to give the little money I have to her instead of an extorting drug dealer.
Her eyes widen, she smiles, and I realize how beautiful she truly is. “Oh my God. Thank you, Alice.”
“You’ve earned it. And put the word out we need another barista. Let’s find someone reliable.”
“Sure. I can help with that. Absolutely.”
I ask her for two black coffees. As she hands them over, she asks if I’m okay. Really okay, she puts it.
“I’m not okay at all,” I say. “Not even a little, and someday, maybe even soon, we’ll talk about it all. But not today.”
Honesty feels good.
Thomas and I grab two of the six cushioned chairs in the Rose. We sit in a quiet corner, and I look outside. No one on the streets.
“I don’t know where to begin,” I say, turning to my brother.
He thinks on this for a moment, then leans forward and says, “What are you scared of?”
This actually makes me laugh. “Everything.”
“Really, Alice. What scares you the most?”
The way he asks makes me think his question alone is right up there on the list.
I answer, “There are things I’m scared of and things I’m worried about. Worried? I’m worried a man is coming to hurt me because he says I owe him money. But scared?” I pause only for a moment. “I’m scared of all the eyes watching me.”
“Alice, what are—”
“Just let me tell you. And don’t interrupt.”
And, perhaps for the first time in my life, I open up to my brother and share. I’m brutally honest and open, telling him all the things haunting my life and what all of them do to my mind in the long, piercing hours of the night.
I’m naked, scared, vulnerable, and it feels good.