Frankie refused to let her pain-in-the-ass neighbor wreck her decent mood. Although she had caught a bit of caring in his undertone, he didn’t express it well. Her heart had zipped down to her stomach when he’d suggested bringing over the bar. She needed to figure out how to get these boys settled in a more long-term situation.
Her heart pinched as she slipped off her running shoes. They were surprisingly good company. Pulling in a deep breath, she caught the scent of pancakes. Certainly a lot better than the smell of three cooped-up boys and a few decades worth of dust Beth had left behind. She glanced at Carter, who was face down in the couch. He had one hand and one foot on the floor and despite his face being buried in a pillow, his snoring punctuated the otherwise-silent room. Well, his snoring and her stomach growling.
“Hungry?” Travis looked over his shoulder as she walked into the kitchen. He was at the stove, flipping pancakes. The kid was quiet and spoke only when necessary, but he seemed to have a sixth sense, maybe even a seventh. Or, her stomach was much louder than she’d thought. Travis was one hell of a cook, which surprised Frankie.
“Starving. Where’s Miles?” She grabbed one of the pancakes from a plate that was piled with them.
“He’s in the shower.” Travis never said more than he had to, but without speaking, he told her more than the others would.
She hadn’t intended to let them stay more than one night, maybe two, but Miles’s cold had gotten worse and there was no way she’d send the kids to a shelter knowing one of them was that sick. She couldn’t believe how fast a week had gone by, especially since she’d gotten so little sleep. The night before was the little guy’s first full night of sleep. Hopefully, he was on the mend. Travis pulled out a few more plates and set them on the counter. When he turned, one of the tiny, black braids covering his head fell loose from its tie. He pushed it back and she caught the expression on his face: Passive, except for the eyes. His eyes were questioning. With his hair loose, he looked younger than fourteen.
“I know he’s better but, I still think he should go to a doctor. You all should. I’ll pay for it,” she said. His eyes hardened. She understood having pride. After all, she had enough of her own to offer paying a doctor’s fee she couldn’t afford. While she had some money saved, she hadn’t planned on feeding three extra mouths on top of renovations. Not that she’d say any of that out loud. She didn’t want him to know it would alleviate some of the guilt she felt at the thought of sending them away. Guilt her father would have told her to swallow down with a cup of reality: they were squatters.
“We ain’t your good deed, Frankie,” he mumbled, shame hunching his shoulders. She frowned, her face tight. They were kids; it wasn’t like they had control. Forcing a strip of pancake into her mouth, she sat down at the table as Carter shuffled in, his pants too low, his face too jaded. He said nothing, glanced back and forth between Travis and her then grabbed a pancake, folded it in half, and shoved the whole thing in his mouth.
“Where’s Miles?” Carter flopped down into the chair across from Frankie.
She smiled when she answered. “In the shower. You should consider trying that. Water. Soap. Works miracles.”
His lips curved slightly, making it difficult to tell if he was amused or sneering at her. He certainly didn’t feel the need to over express his appreciation like his brothers. Travis gave his brother a hard look but Carter shrugged it off as he did most other things. They all turned when Miles came in, his hacking cough announcing his presence.
Carter smiled brightly. “Hey LB.” His voice changed noticeably when he spoke to Miles—it softened, wrapped its arms around Miles like a hug. What Carter lacked in personality, he made up for in affection toward his siblings.
Frankie pushed her chair back and walked over to Miles. “Okay. I’ve tried to figure it out all week. What does LB stand for?”
His dark skin remained pallid, but the shadows below his eyes were fading. Miles giggled and leaned into her touch when she put a hand on his forehead.
“Little Brother,” Miles answered, his giggle turning into a cough. Travis passed him some orange juice and set his breakfast on the table.
“Take this bud.” Travis handed Miles some ibuprofen Frankie had picked up. Miles took it obediently, perfectly unfazed by his brother’s contrasting personalities.
They made it through breakfast with a minimum of talking or coughing. The boys communicated with odd facial expressions, grunts, and, Carter’s favorite, shrugs. Growing up with only one brother, Frankie found this fascinating. She liked watching them, her eyes darting between all three, trying to figure out what messages they were sending. Meals at her family’s house in the Hamptons had included classical music and proper forks, straight-back chairs and delicate bites. Even when they didn’t have company.
Frankie loved her family but growing up in her parents’ house had been an exhausting exercise in pretending. When she’d finally made the decision to come to Minnesota, it was like shedding her skin. She’d intended to find her real self. So far, she’d found three boys, a too-hot-for-his-own-good neighbor with an attitude, and a long to-do list. But sitting with the boys as they shoveled food in their mouths with appreciative gusto, she realized, she was happy. Which made what she was about to do that much harder.
Frankie waited until they’d all finished and they seemed more awake and receptive.
Miles took his plate to the sink. “Can I watch TV?” He looked at Frankie and wiped his hands on his worn-through jeans.
“Sure.”
Carter gave her a dark look, his brows narrowing over his dark eyes. “You’re not his mama.”
“Nope. But I’m the only adult in the house. Sit down both of you,” she said, before they could follow behind Miles.
They sat, as she knew they would. Frankie had set ground rules the first morning after sampling Travis’s cooking. Stay in the house, take care of your brother, and she was the boss. She’d woken every day, checked Miles’s symptoms, if she hadn’t been up with him herself through the night, and they went from there. They’d been fine with it and generally stayed out of her way while she organized herself, figuring out where to start with the renovations. She’d called a few local contractors, but hoped to do a lot of the work herself. The boys were used to staying in the one room and being as quiet as possible since Beth had died. They hadn’t intruded in any way. In fact, they went out of their way to make their presence almost unnoticeable. Frankie actually enjoyed their company, but she knew she couldn’t give them everything they needed. Not indefinitely. Faced with their wary expressions, her lungs felt too tight to breathe in and out. She ran her finger over the speckled kitchen table. This was for the best, for all of them.
The look on Travis’s face told Frankie he knew why she wanted to talk. Carter pulled on his I-don’t-give-a-crap mask and boosted himself onto the counter. The sound of cartoons on the television rang loudly from the living room. Frankie refilled her coffee cup, assembling the words in her head. When she turned, Travis was standing by the patio door that led to the back porch. With the daylight shining through the freshly cleaned glass, the massive yard looked like a frightening chore. Yet, she preferred it to the one in front of her. Frankie’s stomach tilted with uneasiness.
“I’m going to go into town today and talk to someone about a more permanent situation for you three.”
She quelled Carter’s immediate huffing with a pointed look. “You can’t keep living here and there, squatting in empty houses. You should all be in school, have curfews or…” She trailed off. Or whatever it was kids their ages needed to be safe and happy. “You have to consider Miles. He needs a stable home. All of you do.”
She gripped her mug, letting the warmth seep into both hands. Travis leaned his head against the glass doors. Frankie’s heart twisted. Unsurprisingly, Carter spoke first.
“You don’t know shit about what we need, Goldilocks. We take care of ourselves and Miles. And this ain’t no damn fairy tale. You go talk to someone about us and they’ll split us up. We’ll grab our stuff and split,” he said.
He pushed off the counter, coming to stand in front of her. She cast her eyes to the ceiling, and pulled in a steadying breath before meeting his gaze, hoping she could get through to him.
She took a sip, hoping her voice wouldn’t waver when she spoke. “I don’t want you to split. I don’t want you dragging him, or yourselves, around from one temporary place to another. I want to know you guys are safe and cared for.”
Carter leaned in and lowered his already-deep voice. “That’s the thing—it don’t matter what you want. We know how to take care of ourselves and we don’t need some goody-two-shoes-white—”
“Shut up, C.” Travis’s ragtag braids swung when he turned to speak.
“Travis.” Frankie didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s a’ight, Frankie. You did good by us letting us stay this long. We’ll be a’ight. We always are. But Carter’s right. You go talking to anybody about us and they’ll break us up faster than C strikes out with a girl,” Travis said, a slight smile tilting his full, dark lips. Carter gave him the finger.
“Up yours,” Carter said, his eyes still burning into Frankie.
Travis smiled and Frankie’s heartstrings tangled painfully. Her aunt had tried to help these boys and she wanted to do right by them. Needed to. For them. For her aunt. And, she was big enough to admit it—for her own guilty conscience.
When she’d sat up with Miles again on the second night, he’d mumbled softly about their mama dying and living on the street. Keeping him upright seemed to lessen the coughing but when his eyelids got heavy, he leaned all his weight on Frankie. She’d held onto him, his fever keeping her warm, and thought about those boys sticking together no matter what.
A familiar commercial jingle came from the living room. Her shoulders felt strained and the sound of the TV was like a drum in her ears. A headache was working its way up to her temples.
“You’re pretty cool, Frankie,” Travis said, moving close to her.
She put her mug down on the table. “Travis, I don’t want you guys out there alone.”
Carter grumbled something and walked out of the room. She let him go and turned back to Travis. He ran the water in the sink and squirted in some soap. She knew he was taking the moment to gather himself. He was younger than Carter by two years, but he was definitely the levelheaded one, the one who hurt the most and showed it the least. The part of Frankie that had spent her life doing things to make other people happy recognized Travis’s stoic desire to be strong because the people in his life needed him to be. He allowed what he wanted to matter less. Frankie understood him completely.
Despite that connection, she needed to make Travis hear her so he’d do what was best for his brothers.
“I cannot let you just go,” she said.
Grabbing a dishtowel and drying his hands, he gave her a smile so mature she wondered which of them was in charge.
“Frankie, we ain’t alone. We got each other. We always have. Doesn’t matter if we’re in here or out there. We’ll be a’ight. You don’t gotta worry,” he said.
“Oh sure. Just head out and I’ll go back to my life wondering if you’re dying in a ditch somewhere,” she whisper-shouted.
Travis smirked. He’d noticed her overuse of clichés a few times now. But this time, she didn’t care. His voice shifted, suggesting the-boy-who-didn’t-laugh was close to laughing.
“When was the last time you heard of someone actually dying in a ditch?” He was smart. They all were. She hadn’t even asked them about school, which proved she wasn’t equipped to take care of them. What did she know about raising kids? They were not her responsibility. She had to get her own life together so one day, she wouldn’t leave behind nothing more than a rundown shack and some cat pictures.
Frankie pushed her fingers into her hair, getting them stuck in the ponytail she’d forgotten about. She was still sticky from her workout and needed a shower. There was painting to be done, appliances needed ordering, and some of the furniture she’d purchased online would be arriving any day now. If she wanted to pay for any of those things, she needed to start the several freelance writing jobs she’d accepted. She did not have time for this.
She squared her shoulders and looked over at Travis. “Fine. I’ve tried to help you guys. If you won’t let me make arrangements for you, I’ve done all I can.”
She couldn’t figure out why it physically hurt to say or to see the look of acceptance, no surprise at all, on his face.
“Frankie—” Travis’s words were cut off by Carter stomping into the kitchen.
This sixteen year old, who for seven days had pretended nothing phased him, had a wild haze of uncertainty in his eyes. For the first time since Frankie had met him, Carter looked his age. His voice broke when he spoke. “Miles ain’t in the living room or the bedrooms. His shoes and coat are gone.”