Page 15 of Tough Love

His tears still fresh on his cheeks, Briar nods. “Yes.”

“Could you be a champ and get me a couple?”

He tracks sticky footprints out of the room and heads to the cupboard under the stairs. I’ll worry about the carpet later. Right now, I’m wondering how in the hell I can do this if on the very first day, right from the get-go, I screw it up.

I only left for a few minutes.

“Here, Aunty.” He thrusts three cream towels at me that don’t stand a chance at staying so crisp and fresh after this.

“Thanks, buddy.” I set them down in a kind of carpet, figuring I can mop later once we’ve eaten.

The incident is soon forgotten once Briar gets the toast in his grasp. Nutella smears his cheeks in a Joker smile, dotted on his temple, and God only knows how, in his hair. He’s a right mess by the time we’ve finished, and I couldn’t care less.

He’s fed. I’m fed. The coffee is hot. And we’re blessed with a new day.

If I learned anything early on in life, it was to appreciate what you have rather than lament your losses. Makes for an easier day, and less stress worrying over things you can’t change even if you wanted to.

I send Briar upstairs with the “urgent mission” to clean his face and hands, and then take my coffee over to the counter where I left my phone to read the mystery message.

Didn’t want to disturb you. Call if you need anything. In fact, just call to let me know how things turn out.

Well, that explains the odd number then. Evan. I sip at the liquid gold while I tap out my reply.

Thanks again for all your help. P.S. How do you have my number?

His response is immediate, which intrigues me in itself.

It was on the incident report. Ssh, don’t tell anyone ;) I meant what I said though, keep me posted.

Despite the fact he’s God only knows where and can’t see what I’m doing, I nod. At least now I have his number, and with it, possibly a chance at getting more answers on what happened to him over the last nine years. He said he’s kept in the loop about me, but I haven’t heard a single thing about him. A part of me wonders if that was deliberate. Did he want me to remain oblivious to the fact he was back in town?

Stopping myself before I fall into another spiral of worry and lament, I switch over to the voicemail. Mum.

“Just calling to let you know Dad and I arrived at the hospital.” Sigh. “We’re with Kathy now, staying close overnight. We’ll come over in the morning so we don’t disturb Briar while he’s asleep.”

I’m the worst sister and daughter in the world. I should have been there too. I should care how Kath is today. But all I feel is … nothing. There’s a void where the hurt, the concern, and the injustice should be. A big fat hole.

I guess that’s what happens when the hatchet is yet to be buried.

Briar wanders back into the kitchen, coming to stand beside me at the counter. His arms wrap around my waist, and he presses his face to my side.

“When’s Mum coming home?”

“Soon, buddy. Soon.” I reach down and ruffle his hair. “Grandma and Grandpa are coming to visit.”

“Why?”

“I guess because they’d like to see you,” I say.

He nods, letting me go. “Okay.”

Then as quickly as he arrived, he leaves. Kids are strange. No concept yet of proper social etiquette. They just operate on what needs to be done, and make it so. No concern over what’s expected, or what’s usual for the situation. Just the simple plan to get from A to B.

A life so modest.

I scroll through my emails, answering those that only take a few simple lines, and flagging the ones that’ll need follow-up. Common sense would dictate that I should send a message to my office to let the boss know I need time off work, but it’s Saturday, and regardless, I don’t think I’m up to that yet.

Nobody at work knows I have a sister. The only people listed on my employment records are Mum and Dad.

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