Page 38 of Down in Flames

“Leave the boy alone, Dorothy!” his father shouted from the living room. He’d already been settled in his recliner, staring listlessly at the sports report, when West came in. His cheeks were covered in silver bristles and his clothes were so wrinkled that West was sure he hadn’t been to bed the night before.

“But he needs—”

“Mind your own business, woman!” Jasper interrupted. “No one needs your damn coddling!”

She slammed her wooden cutting board down so hard that it sounded like a gunshot. West nearly jumped out of his skin, shocked when his mother planted her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands.

“Mom…” He reached out to pull her into a hug, but something about the fragile angle of her shoulders made him rethink. He watched, guilty and paralyzed, as the rooster clock on the wall ticked out the seconds. Part of him wanted to give in and stay for breakfast, just to make her feel better. The only thing stopping him was that he really didn't have time.

Eventually, his mother straightened and scrubbed at her face. He’d thought she might be crying, her face was so pinched and red, but her eyes were bone dry.

“I’ll wrap you up something to go,” she said, brusquely cracking an egg into a cast iron skillet.

“How is he?” West asked, glancing toward the drone of television in the other room.

She sniffed and wiped the tip of her nose with the corner of her apron. “He’s been in a lot of pain this week. It makes him cranky.”

“He stopped taking his meds again, didn’t he?”

“He’s stubborn. It runs in the family.” Her smile was tremulous as she slapped together a bacon and egg sandwich and wrapped it in foil.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to him, and he knows it,” West assured her, kissing the top of her head.

“Your father loves us. It's just that he's got nothing left.”

“He’s got us,” West said stiffly.

“Yes,” she said, and her smile was more genuine this time, “and I need you to keep reminding him of that. Now take these sandwiches out to your brother, will you? And make sure to get some rest today. You’ve been looking tired lately.”

As West took the twisting mountain road up to the junkyard, he wondered if his mother had really been about to cry or if she'd only been trying to manipulate him. He didn't blame her. It was just her way of coping.

They all loved each other, West had never doubted that. But the rough years had left a bitterness that was hard to shake. Sometimes it felt as if they were all screaming inside to speak thousands of tiny resentments, but they never did. It was like they sensed how dangerous it would be, how fragile the delicate balance they'd maintained truly was.

Maybe that was part of the reason West had been so afraid to open up to Michael. In his family, feelings weren’t something easily shared. His whole life, he’d only had one goal: keep his head down and his mouth closed and never, ever rock the boat.

Back when even a grade school sniffle had resulted in a battery of medical tests, his only option to lead a normal life had been to lie, lie, lie. Keeping secrets had become his default, and nearly all his energy went to making sure they never caught up to him.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, coming out to meet him in the heart of the junkyard. It was so early that city folk had just begun their morning commute, but Derek was already streaked with grime.

“You forgot something the other night,” West said, killing the engine and scooping up Patches with one hand.

Derek automatically cradled the puppy when West thrust her into his arms. “I don’t want her,” he protested, even as his grease-stained fingers stroked her fur.

“Then you shouldn’t have saved her," West said, tongue in cheek.

“I wasn’t going to leave her in a box,” he snarled, and West chewed on the inside of his cheek when Derek cuddled the puppy under his unshaven chin.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t have time to take on a puppy.”

“The responsibility would do you some good,” Derek muttered.

West set his jaw and considered snapping back, but something about the tender way his brother fluffed the silky little ears tugged at his heart. Derek wasn’t unfeeling; far from it. He’d spent his whole life trying to protect everyone and everything around him, and it had nearly killed him when he failed. He’d hardened his heart a long time ago, just to survive. West had been just a kid, and he hadn’t understood at the time. He did now.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached into the truck and grabbed a plastic bag filled with breakfast sandwiches. “From Mom.”

Derek grunted and slung the bag over his shoulder, heading toward the rickety shack he called an office. He didn’t invite West to join him, but he left the door open, so West followed him inside.

It wasn’t much to look at, just a couple of chairs and a thrifted desk nearly too small for such a big man. The calendar on the wall was from last year, right next to a smudged business license held in place with a thumb tack. Pale morning light leaked through a single window in whatever meager dose it could squeeze through the dirty panes. Beyond the glass was a jungle of broken vehicles and twisted scrap, rusted and dirty and mean. Derek’s home away from home.

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