Page 4 of Barrett

That kindness went a long way. To some, it might have seemed like a small thing. Ice cream cones and popsicles weren’t a big deal to them. To us, they were everything during the summer. Those treats made us happy when we had nothing to do but hang out on the sidewalk or play in the street with our friends. It sure as hell wasn’t our parents doing it. They didn’t care if we stayed outside all hours of the night. We didn’t, but we could have.

“What made you paint this today?” I asked.

“I woke up this morning with it in my mind. I don’t think I dreamed about it since it really happened and wasn’t something I made up. Maybe I was feeling nostalgic. I’m not sure.”

I nodded but kept my thoughts to myself. If I had to guess, it had everything to do with us finding out our dad passed away last week. He’d been in poor health for a long time. Apparently, a heart attack took him. There wasn’t anyone at his home to help him. Our mom had passed away a few years back from cancer.

I didn’t shed a single tear. Marshall was quiet and focused on his painting. That was how he grieved. Our parents didn’t deserve my tears or thoughts. After the shit they put us through, after not taking care of my brother when he needed it, fuck them. All they had to do was keep a steady job and Marshall could have had health insurance while he went to college, but they couldn’t manage it. They were always sure to remind us how much insurance cost them out of every paycheck and how if we weren’t around, they wouldn’t have to work so hard and waste their lives doing jobs they didn’t like. That was just what a child needed to hear. It was amazing Marshall and I weren’t more fucked up than we were.

Although, by some accounts, I wasn’t right in the head.

What detective worked for the local mafia boss and didn’t feel guilty about it? There were others within the East Dremest Police Department who Jordan paid. I wasn't close with any of them though. I went to work to do my job and do it well. I wasn’t there to make friends.

“Barrett?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. It’s a privilege to watch you thrive.”

He took the brush away from the canvas and turned to face me. There was a smudge of gray paint on his cheek. He probably didn’t realize it was there. “I don’t say it enough. That’s wrong of me. You’ve sacrificed a lot. I want you to know how grateful I am. You keep a roof over our heads and ensure I have insurance.”

“Don’t discount yourself. You work too, Mars. You contribute.”

“Not the same way you do. I only work part time. I could never afford everything on my own.”

“Things will get even better soon. I’m hoping for the sergeant position.” Hoping didn’t mean I’d get it, but it was worth a shot.

“I wish you’d find something you loved too.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him I would much rather work for Jordan than stay on the right side of the law. Being a cop was born out of necessity. Out of the desire to be able to stand up for myself and others in situations they didn’t deserve to be in. I loved helping people. I hated working where I did.

“I’m fine where I am,” I told Marshall instead. “I make good money. We’re doing okay here.”

“I am, but you could be better. Don’t think I miss the bags under your eyes or the way you force yourself out the door for work. All so I can live my dream.”

“Your dream is what matters. You weren’t allowed to do what you wanted when we were growing up. You can now.”

Our parents never fostered Marshall’s love of art. They’d tell him paint, crayons, and other supplies he asked for were a waste of money. And if we’d like to eat, he couldn’t have those things.

It would have been different if they explained to us why we didn’t have money or how they were trying hard to pay the bills and all that shit. They weren’t though. They didn’t try. Skating by was their path, and it didn’t include having two kids who were told they were more mouths to feed, and more money down the toilet.

Instead of continuing this conversation with my brother, I asked, “Did you have dinner?”

“No, I haven’t looked at the clock.”

“I figured.” I smiled and ruffled his shaggy hair. It hung down to his chin now. He’d get it cut when it started to annoy him.

I left Marshall to his painting but kept the door open, so he’d hear me call when dinner was ready. I’d heard more than once from our parents how I shouldn’t enable him, how Marshall should be working to earn a living. They said that so he’d move back in with them and support them. It was never about Marshall. Their needs came above all others. That was what I got for visiting every six months to see if they were still standing. I kept tabs on everyone. It was easier to know if they were doing shit they shouldn’t.

In the back of my mind, I always wished I’d caught them doing drugs so I could have them locked up. God, it would have been so satisfying to see their asses behind bars. But they didn’t. Their crimes were neglecting themselves. They didn’t care how they looked or how they treated others. I still went there to make sure they were alive until they weren’t.

The weight that lifted off me to have them both gone was immense. They were cremated since there was no money to bury them. Then the day came when Marshall and I had to clean out their apartment. It wasn’t a surprise when there wasn’t a thing either of us wanted inside. We walked out of there and never looked back. The landlord could get rid of their shit. I never found out what my dad did with my mom’s ashes. My dad’s were thrown away. Was it harsh? Probably, but ask me if I gave a fuck. He didn’t deserve kindness from me. Marshall was the only family I needed.

In the kitchen, I opened the fridge and pulled out a package of chicken breasts to start putting dinner together. One of my phones lit up on the counter so I turned it to see who it was. When you worked for a mafia boss, you knew how to cover your ass.

Unknown: It’s the twins’ birthday today. I thought you might want to know.

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