"Thatcher, pick up the damn phone.” I yell into his voicemail as I barrel down the highway toward his studio. “Fuck!” When he doesn’t answer I keep driving. To hell with him if he has some woman squirreled away in his studio today. I knew something was wrong when I didn’t hear from Tim or Juniper on Monday after their meeting, and then she called me this morning with the news. I screech to a halt in the gravel lot outside Stag Glass and throw open the door.
My brother is bent over his workbench, blaring music and banging away at some red-hot piece of molten glass. I shut off his radio, but don’t get too close because I don’t want that fucker to burn me. “Thatcher. We have a problem, man.”
He frowns, plunges his work into a bucket of water, and raises his eyebrows--my permission to explain myself. “Juniper just called.”
“Your lawyer?”
I wave away that question. “Listen, she said Alice fainted during their big meeting at the law firm and cut her head. Tim rode with her to the hospital and then went insane, holed himself up in his office, and just rushed out of there all bloody and wild-eyed.”
Thatcher just stares at me.
“Dude, Tim has been fucking Alice.”
“Our brother Tim? Mr. stern Stag? And one of his employees?”
I nod. “I know, man, but he’s freaking out. Apparently he drove over to Alice’s house spewing some insane scheme. Juniper said he was holed up in his office ever since he got back, muttering.”
Thatcher scratches his beard, thinking. “He told me he was banging some chick without a condom. A few weeks ago. He said she drove him to distraction.” Thatcher shrugs. “Where is he now?”
“Let’s go, man, he’s probably over at the Peterson house causing a scene.”
We drive in search of our brother and I fill Thatcher in on my TMZ situation. Thatcher laughs when I tell him I’d been planning to use Tim's distraction at work as a screen to convince him it's cool that Juniper and I are together. “His situation sure trumps yours, baby bro.”
I grit my teeth and head to our neighborhood, where the Petersons live just a few streets away from me and Gram.
Only Tim isn’t at the Peterson house anymore.
When we pull up, Alice's brothers are sitting on the porch with a metal baseball bat. Thatcher laughs. "This doesn't look great, Ty."
I see Tim's car parked half in the street, blocking their driveway. "Thatch, let's go up there together."
"I'm not going anywhere near this shit-show, baby brother," he says, tugging on his damn beard. "Listen, you go talk to them and tell them you'll move Tim's car."
I shake my head at my brother and climb out of my Tesla. "Hey, Petersons," I call, walking toward them with my hands up. "We just came to find our brother. We don't want to cause any trouble here."
One of the Peterson brothers stands up. The one with the bat. I can handle a bat. "It's me, Ty Stag. You guys went to school with my brothers?"
"You mean your crazy ass brother who knocked up our sister and showed up here trying to kidnap her?"
"What?"
"You heard me, Stag. Get the fuck out of here. Move that fucking car of his while you're at it."
I freeze in my tracks. I feel my face contorting. Did he say pregnant? My brother Tim got his girlfriend pregnant? "Hey, guys, what do you say you put the bat down and I sign some autographs for the kids and you tell me exactly what my dickhead brother did so I can make amends."
Thatcher and I park Tim's car at Gram’s house and walk the neighborhood, until we eventually find him in the park. He’s slumped over by the fountain looking like he’s been in a fight with Satan himself. We sit on either side of him and pat his leg, which is bro-speak for “everything is going to be ok, dude.”
I give him an exaggerated sniff. He’s obviously been wearing the same clothes for a few days. I have never seen him disheveled like this, even when he was cramming for law school exams. “Bro, I hate to tell you this, but your shirt is untucked,” I say. Thatcher cracks up and starts plucking blades of grass off the shoulders of Tim’s suit.
Tim has been our rock for over ten years. Nobody asks to be responsible for their snot-nosed brothers, but Tim stepped up as soon as it was obvious our dad wasn’t going to be around to parent us. I realize, looking at him falling apart like this, that it’s all been really one-way. Even once we became adults, Thatcher and I never reached out to him or offered any sort of support. “Tim, you know you can talk to me about stuff, right? I mean...shit. I’m here for you no matter what. God knows you’ve been there for me.” Thatcher nods.
“We’re going to be amazing uncles,” I say. “And from the looks of things, Baby Stag’s got some other uncles who’ll look out for him, too.”
Thatcher lets out a huff, muttering about a shotgun wedding until I punch him in the shoulder. I wish I were better at talking about this stuff. Tim’s still staring off into space, blood on his shirt, stubble on his face for the first time I’ve ever seen. “All those times you bailed me out, talked to teachers when I got in fights, made sure I was allowed to stay in school. Tim, you’ve been a dad to me for a long time, bro. You've been our dad. You’re already good at this, is what I’m trying to say.”
He looks over at me then, like he finally hears me. His eyes are all watery, and I choke up. Thatcher pipes in, saying, “It’s true, Tim-bo. You’re already good at being everybody’s dad.” Tim closes his eyes and his body seems to relax a bit more.
“Come on,” I say, giving him a lift to his feet. “Let’s get you home before Alice's brothers come after us with their hunting rifle.”