Page 8 of Caged Bird

“We’re out of eggs,” she said quietly around mouthfuls of food. “Shame we can’t have a chicken coop here. Did I ever tell you I had chickens when I was a kid? It’s so handy to have fresh eggs every day.”

“I’ll get some more on my way home from work.”

Mom cut her bacon carefully and glanced out the kitchen window. “A sunny day. Hopefully the worksite is a bit less muddy for you after all the rain we had last week.”

I chewed my toast and swallowed. “Sorry about the mess I made of the floor last night. I didn’t even get my boots off before I fell asleep. There’s probably dirt everywhere.”

She waved a hand around. “The floors needed mopping anyway.”

That wasn’t true. She mopped them daily and kept the house pristine. Anything to keep herself busy. She rarely left it, though, and never without me by her side, so her days were long and quiet, with little to do other than cook and clean.

There was an easel and a whole array of painting supplies in the corner of her bedroom that I’d bought in the hopes of giving her something to do while I worked, but though she’d once loved art, her fingers now shook too much for her to paint a steady line. So the supplies sat untouched, and Mom filled her days scrubbing a home that was already spotless.

I knew it wasn’t much of a life. For her, or for me. But it wasalife. One I doubted either of us would still have if we hadn’t left Saint View and my brother behind.

I managed to sweep up the dried mud before she batted me away from the mop, and I took a quick shower, ignoring my reflection in the steamed-up mirror. I pulled on fresh work clothes and yelled a goodbye to Mom. She stuck her head out of the kitchen, rubber gloves covering her fingers.

“Are you going out tonight?” she asked, hope in her tone. “It’s Friday, after all.”

I walked back over to her and kissed her cheek. “You know I don’t go out. I’ll be home right after work. As always.”

Her face fell. “You can’t spend your entire life here, babysitting an old woman.”

“You aren’t old.”

She patted my cheek. “You’re a good liar.” But she flinched at the word, and I knew she was thinking about my brother. How he, too, had been a good liar.

But while my lies were limited to flattering an old woman, whose rough life had aged her well beyond her years, my brother’s lies were of a whole different caliber.

I hated that even years after we’d left him behind, he still haunted us on a daily basis. “I’ll think about going out for a beer with the guys after shift, okay?”

Her expression brightened. “I hope you do.”

We both knew I wouldn’t.

But some of the stress slipped away as I got behind the wheel of my truck. It was new, one of the few things I had to spend my money on, besides the rent. The jobsite wasn’t far from the house, only a twenty-minute drive, but it was twenty minutes of freedom I craved every day.

Where for just a while, I got to be my own person. I wasn’t my mother’s caregiver. I wasn’t my boss’s employee.

I wasn’t Eddie’s brother.

I rolled down the window, letting cool morning air buffer my face, and sang along with the radio to an old Rascal Flatts song.The hard, manual labor of my job kept me busy all day, setting up framework and pouring concrete when the truck arrived. I lost myself in the thoughtless work, and the hours passed quickly, morning sun sinking into the afternoon, until Paul, the foreman, called the job done for the week.

I picked up a level and a few other tools the guys had left scattered around the site, putting them away.

Paul clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Coming to the bar?”

On autopilot, I went to shake my head no. Paul asked every week, just because he was a good guy, and every week I declined. So he was just as surprised as I was when the word, “Yes,” slipped out of my mouth.

He stopped. “Seriously?”

I hadn’t even realized I was going to say it myself. But it had been a good day. The sun had shone after a week of rain, and I knew what waited for me at home. I loved my mother and I didn’t resent her for a second. But being her caregiver had meant sacrificing my own life.

For one night, I just wanted to be a single man who had no responsibilities. No baggage. No weight sitting so heavy on my shoulders it was nearly impossible to walk at times.

I lifted a shoulder. “Just let me make a phone call and I’ll meet you all there.”

Paul’s regular, easygoing smile turned into a grin. “First beer’s on me.”

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