Page 3 of Barrett

“Thanks.”

Marshall yawned and put his head on my shoulder. I took the mug from him and placed it on the table so I could ease us back and let him sleep.

I stayed there as the sun rose and light seeped in between the plastic blinds over the windows. I had to work, but not until later today. Now I was glad I never spent that money I saved on other things. Marshall deserved everything good in the world, and damn if I wasn’t going to give it to him.

He wasn’t a minor, so I couldn’t become his guardian, but I could help him in other ways. There was a clinic not too far from here that had payment options. I’d get him seen and put a plan in place. Even if I had to pay out of pocket for his medication, I would. One way or another, Marshall was going back to school, and he would feel good while doing it.

Letting my body relax into the couch, I closed my eyes. There was no way I was drifting back to sleep, but I could let my mind wander. I also couldn’t ignore the comfort I found in my brother’s presence. The only times I went home anymore were for holidays or to pick Marshall up and take him out for a meal.

Our parents made it known long ago that we were nothing more than a burden on them. They were more invested in themselves than they were in us. But that was what they got for not using birth control and not bothering to hold down a job for long. They were healthy for the most part. They just didn’t want to work.

I’d like to say it was better when we were smaller, but it wasn’t. The only saving grace was our aunt and uncle on our mom’s side. Our dad’s side was a fucking train wreck. My mom’s sister would pick us up and let us stay with them for weeks at a time over the summer. They’d spoil us. My aunt and uncle never had children of their own, so they paid us attention.

I’d secretly hoped one day we could live with them for good. It was a wish that never came true. And it was why, once I graduated high school, I needed a job that would pay enough to get me out of that house. Leaving Marshall behind wasn’t easy. Getting a job and saving money was though.

It was all for him. Everything I did and continued to do was so my brother would have a place to land when he inevitably left home.

Now he was on my couch, warm and asleep. He didn’t have to worry where he would get his medication from or how he was going to afford to return to college. I had that covered, even if it meant living in this apartment with one bedroom for years. Marshall could have the bed. I’d sleep on the couch.

My brother would never know again what it felt like to want and not receive.

1

BARRETT

Present Day

There were days when I swore the chief put me on the shit cases as punishment. He didn’t and wouldn't ever know I had an agreement with Jordan Altair Sr., but he knew something. He sniffed around, trying to catch me doing shit I shouldn’t. I wasn’t an idiot. I always had a reason for stopping by one of Jordan's or his partners’ places, where others could see me. If I was in my personal vehicle, I made damn sure I didn’t have anyone following me. It didn’t matter if I was doing something for Jordan or not. I couldn’t stand the thought of another cop on my ass.

When I finally climbed the stairs to my second-floor apartment, I was ready to collapse. The living room was dark when I unlocked the door and went inside, but light came from the partially closed door in the third bedroom down the hall.

I dropped my keys on the counter and walked through the darkened space until I reached the door and rapped my knuckles against it. “Mars?”

“Hmmm?” That was code for I heard you, but I wasn’t fully paying attention.

Slowly, I eased the door open, not wanting to disturb him. I had to make sure he was doing okay. My brother had paint on his fingers and an easel in front of him with a canvas on it. A single light shined down onto the canvas, the rest of the room dark, which meant he’d been painting for hours and hadn’t realized the sun had set.

I walked into the room, careful not to disturb anything he had on the floor. Marshall wasn’t the cleanest in this room. It was one of the reasons why I wanted to find us an affordable three-bedroom. He was meticulous with his bedroom, but this space was a different story.

Stopping behind him, I peered over his shoulder and a lump immediately formed in my throat. My brother had an uncanny ability to paint scenes from his memory. It didn’t matter if they happened yesterday or a decade ago. He remembered them and, when the moment struck, used his talent to bring them to life again.

In the painting, he and I were sitting on the front steps of the apartment building we grew up in. I was maybe twelve, which would make Marshall four. We each had a popsicle, mine chocolate, and his strawberry. He always went for the fruit flavors rather than chocolate or vanilla. The sticky sweetness dripped onto our fingers as we laughed. Every detail was perfectly captured, down to the chunk of stone missing from the right side of the bottom step. We had to be careful running down them. One wrong move and that stone would cut our calves.

There were no adults in the painting, no parents. Just Marshall and me enjoying ourselves. It was rare for us to be happy when we were home, but when the ice cream truck came around our neighborhood, the owner knew most of us couldn’t afford it. If some could, he’d collect the money, usually less than a dollar. I was sure he gave them a discount. But some of us couldn’t afford it, like Marshall and me.

“I saw him the other day,” I murmured, not wanting to startle my brother.

“Who?” Marshall asked without taking his eyes off the strokes he was making with his brush. He was detailing the garbage cans tucked against the side of the stairs.

“Mr. Martin. He doesn’t drive the ice cream truck anymore but is doing well. He was getting a bite to eat at the café around the corner from the station as I went in to grab coffee.” I hated the shit they brewed at work. It couldn’t even be called coffee.

“How old do you think he is now?”

“Sixties, maybe. He said he’s retired and just returned from a trip with his wife.”

“That’s good. He was always so kind to us.”

“He was.”

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