Watching Trin by Freya Barker

Chapter 24

Bodhi

“Let me get that one, Dad. It’s heavy.”

I should probably have divided my books over two smaller boxes instead of cramming them all in one. My father may be in good physical condition, even at sixty-five, but if he puts his back out my mom will never forgive me.

“Not old yet, son,” he grumbles.

“Fine, we’ll do it together. I’m afraid the bottom will drop out otherwise anyway.”

Between the two of us it’s manageable, although tricky to get down the narrow stairwell. We load it in the back of my Jimmy with the rest of the boxes. All that’s left now is the big stuff, which will need a few trips for sure.

The second time we arrive with a load at my parents’ place, Mom is waiting with lunch. Unfortunately a quick sandwich does not spell lunch in my mother’s dictionary, she’s more a minimum three-course kind of cook. She made one of my favorites—chicken vindaloo with fresh naan and cucumber raita—in addition to the vegetable pakora, with Jalebi and coffee for dessert.

My dad is almost asleep in his chair for his afternoon nap when I thank my mother for lunch and announce we should get going.

“Already?” Mom complains.

“We have at least two more trips and I’d like to get it done today.”

I almost add I need to grab my stuff from the trailer and pick up ingredients for dinner tonight, but she’d probably keep me tied up here for another hour. I love my mother but she tends to be—how should I put it—a tad involved.

“Fine, but when are you bringing Trin by again? Maybe Vic and Tucker as well? I’d love to have them all over for dinner.”

I lean down to kiss her cheek.

“Maybe the weekend after next?” I suggest, thinking by then Trin’s friend will have left and I’ll have moved into the new place. Things will have settled down a bit by then. “I’ll check with them and let you know.”

She reluctantly agrees but still makes me wait to pack up most of the leftover food so I can take it home. Then she follows us outside.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Mom darts past me and runs up to Jeannie, who is just walking up the driveway. I drop the Tupperware containers on the passenger seat before turning toward them. Jeannie’s glancing at me as I approach.

“I actually was trying to get in touch with Bodhi and happened to see his truck here.”

Fuck. No escaping now.

She left me a few messages over the weekend, which I’ve ignored, but it looks like my time has run out.

“How are your parents?” my mother asks, following her own script.

The question seems to startle Jeannie.

“Well, my father isn’t doing so well. He developed an infection and is on life support. The doctors aren’t very hopeful.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”

Both Dad and I mumble an echo of those sentiments. It’s not uncommon with the severity of Mr. Anderson’s burns for complications to arise. Even a week later.

“And how is your mother doing?”

“She’s still short of breath and they have her on a puffer, but she won’t let them do anything else. She’s afraid of the additional costs. Apparently, they let their health insurance lapse and now she’s afraid the hospital will pull the plug on him. She won’t leave his side.” Jeannie turns her attention to me again. “That’s why I was hoping you’d have some information for me.”

“All I was able to find out is the fire inspector is waiting for a few more test results before he can finalize the report. It shouldn’t be too much longer, though,” I lie by omission.

“Can I at least get in? Dad kept all his paperwork in the office at the restaurant. I need to see what we’re up against.”

“Hopefully soon,” I placate her, knowing the fire inspector won’t let her have access.

Not if there’s any suspicion of foul play, because he’d have to hand over an intact scene to the police.

Fuck, I feel guilty.

Since Godfrey seems convinced this was arson, it will delay any claims with their insurance. It sounds like they’re going to need that money to pay for hospital bills and now possibly her father’s funeral as well. I wonder if it spells the end of the Pickled Egg. A lot of people will hate to see it go.

Jeannie looks crestfallen and I feel for her. I reach out and give her a light pat on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry it’s not better news.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Mom asks, concern on her face. “Maybe I can sit down with your mom? See if we can be of any help to her?”

Jeannie shakes her head.

“No, she doesn’t want to see anyone.” She flashes a smile at my mother. “I’ll let her know you offered.”

Then she turns to walk back down the driveway.

“That poor family,” Mom mutters. “I’m going to start making them some meals, for when they get home.”

Mom needs to feel useful and thinks everything is better on a full stomach. She’s not wrong.

When I look at Dad though, his eyes are still focused on Jeannie’s retreating back, a dubious look on his face.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he says. “I’ve known Hank Anderson for close to fifty years and I don’t believe for a second he’d let their health insurance lapse. He would never put Marianne or Jeannie in that position. He’d do anything to make sure his girls were looked after.”

“Maybe she misunderstood. I’m sure they’re all under a great deal of stress,” I suggest.

Dad just hums and then imparts a cryptic, “Maybe.”

We manage to do the last two runs in record time. I thank Dad for his help before rushing to the trailer to grab my stuff and a warp-speed shower. I’m pretty ripe.

I go through the City Market in a blur, snatching the necessary ingredients for dinner off the shelves and by the time I pull up behind Trin’s Jeep in the driveway, it’s almost time for Tuck to get home.

The door opens when I walk up to it and Vic steps out.

“There you are, I wasn’t sure when you’d get back. I was on my way for a quick visit with Pops, but that can wait,” she shares as she backs into the house. “But maybe I’ll stick around a few minutes.”

I’m about to tell her she doesn’t have to for my sake when Trin sticks her head out of the study, a nasty scrape along her jaw and up her cheek. The bags hit the floor as my hands go straight for her face.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

* * *

Trin

“You should’ve called me.”

In Vic’s defense, she did try to get me to call him, but I chose not to. I figured the minor damage and near miss didn’t justify dragging him away from what he was doing.

Still, Bodhi aims his angry scowl her way.

“Hey, I’m the one who decided it was hardly worth disrupting you for a little scratch.”

His head whips around.

“Fucking little?” he barks, in stark contrast with the gentle brush of his fingers over my cheek. “Any other damage?”

My palms sting from when I landed on them and I surreptitiously rub my knuckles over my left hip where I’m pretty sure a colorful bruise is forming, but I plaster a smile on my face.

“No,” I lie and his eyes briefly narrow.

This new bossy, angry side of Bodhi is a giant turn-on. Not usually a fan of heavy-handed guys, discovering this mostly hidden side to him is a surprise. A very fucking good one. The air sizzles with underlying passion as his dark brown eyes bore into mine.

“Who was the idiot?”

Oh, dear. I have a feeling the answer to that is not going to make him any happier and dart a look at Vic. She’s no help at all and simply shrugs. I already told him Vic saw me crossing the parking lot into the path of a truck and launched herself at me, narrowly pushing me out of the way. What I didn’t tell him yet was that according to a woman who had seen the whole thing, the vehicle had sped off.

No use in lying about that though, I’m sure the reports will get back to him soon enough since that same witness had already dialed 911. EMTs and a police cruiser showed up and the officer took our statements while the paramedics cleaned up my face and hands.

“We don’t know,” I confess. “The truck took off. The lady who witnessed the incident said she got the impression it was a young guy behind the wheel. He may just have freaked out,” I suggest, rubbing a soothing hand on Bodhi’s chest.

“Conley was the responding officer,” Vic adds. I guess the name means something to Bodhi because he nods. “He’s got our statements; they’ll keep a lookout for the truck.”

While Vic talks, Bodhi slides his free hand around my waist, tucking me closer.

“Was he aiming for her?”

It’s now like I’m not even here, the conversation going on over my head which is somewhat annoying. Especially since he brings something up I hadn’t really considered before now.

“Hard to know if he did or didn’t,” Vic answers. “All I know is my idiot sister was beelining it out of the store and into the parking lot with a head full of steam and, therefore, not looking.”

She already gave me an earful in the parking lot, and then again on the way home, which is why I barricaded myself in the study. Now she’s getting pissed all over again.

“Hey! You were the one egging me on,” I complain at Vic’s description, but no one is listening to me.

“Why a head full of steam?” Bodhi asks over my head.

I’m seriously considering pinching him or maybe a well-aimed knee will help him focus.

“Because she can’t take a joke, that’s why.”

I glare at my sister, who glares right back.

“You were waving a dildo in the middle of Walmart and you made me pay for it!”

“It was a vibrator and I know you know the difference—I’ve seen the one you hide under your pillow—so don’t pretend to be innocent.”

With that she stomps off upstairs and I shove my face—which is getting hotter by the nano second—in Bodhi’s shirt.

My God, someone kill me now. Or better yet, I’m going to kill her. Surely a judge would see it as justifiable fratricide under the circumstances. Or they should if they had any siblings.

The chest I’ve been trying to hide in starts shaking and rumbling with contained laughter. My embarrassment is complete.

I attempt—unsuccessfully—to retreat, but Bodhi holds me in place with a hand curved around the back of my neck. Then he dips his head down, his lips by my ear.

“Gonna have to remember your hiding spot,” he mumbles, his breath brushing against my skin. “I like playing.”

A delicious shiver runs down my spine as my healthy imagination takes over.

Of course Tuck picks that moment to barge in the door and I use the distraction to back away from Bodhi. Tuck’s backpack goes flying and lands in the middle of the hallway.

“Pick up your stuff, Tucker,” I admonish him sternly.

I swear, this is becoming a tedious pattern. Every damn day. And every day he scowls at me before picking it up and putting it on the stairs to take to his room later. Seems like time and energy wasted. Maybe I just don’t understand these persistent, mini rebellions. As a teenager I was more concerned with not rocking the boat, but my son seems to like causing waves.

“Hey, Bodhi,” the little traitor says, ignoring me. “Are we working on the bike?”

“After homework,” I announce, starting to feel like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Maybe after dinner,” Bodhi suggests. “Although, I should get started or we’ll be eating late.”

He heads for the fridge as Tuck darts past me into the pantry, coming out with his after-school snack. Pop-Tarts, of course.

“Don’t spoil your dinner,” flies out of my mouth and I immediately cringe.

Tuck doesn’t even bother responding, snatching his backpack and thundering up the stairs.

I feel like I’m stuck in Mommy-mode. That’s all I seem to do these days, go through my repertoire of corrections and admonishments. When is the last time I said something positive to my son? I can blame it on his attitude all I want, but the truth is, I carry as much responsibility here. When did we stop talking?

From the moment he was born it had been us against the world. Until last year we’d been attached at the hip, would share our days over dinner, snuggle up with a bowl of popcorn to watch a movie, and spent our weekends and holidays doing stuff we both enjoyed doing.

I know this is part and parcel of Tuck growing up—finding his own way—but I miss that easy connection we used to have. For a few weeks now he’s even started skipping my goodnight kiss, and what is worse, I haven’t gone looking for it.

Now he looks at me like I’m some stranger, and if I’m honest with myself, I look at him the same way.

“You okay?” Bodhi asks when I haven’t moved from the spot.

I don’t want to turn around or he’ll see the tears rolling down my face and want to know what caused them.

And I don’t want to tell him it’s because I’m failing as a mother.

“I’m all right. Be right back,” I mumble, steering myself toward the stairs.

I have lead in my feet climbing the steps, and take way too long to splash some cold water on my face in the bathroom, but eventually I end up outside his bedroom door.

A sharp “What?” is the response from inside when I softly knock.

Taking a deep breath in, I push open the door. I ignore his glare when I walk over to the bed and stretch out beside him.

“What are you doing?”

Hardly a warm invitation, but I force my knee-jerk reaction down.

I roll on my side and face his stubborn profile.

“I’m sorry.”

His head snaps around and his expression is surprised but his words are still cautious.

“For what?”

“All I seem to do these days is snipe at you and I don’t want to be that person. I’ve been so preoccupied with all the changes and adjustments these past months—one thing after another—but in all of that I forgot the most important thing.”

He turns and mirrors my position so we’re lying face-to-face, and I almost start crying again.

“What is that?” he asks in a soft voice.

“Being your mom. Talking with you, but most importantly, listening to you.”

“Mom…” he tries to stop me, but I’m not done.

Damn, I’m crying anyway.

“Love you, Tucker. More than anything in this whole world. And I know you’re growing up—Jesus,” I sob, “you’ll be fifteen on Saturday—but part of me will always look at you and see the little boy who would look at me like I hung the moon.”

“Mom…” he repeats, but this time he reaches for me.

* * *

“So Tuck wants to go zip-lining for his birthday.”

I flick off the bathroom light and walk into the bedroom, where Bodhi is already in bed.

My earlier talk with Tuck was good—cleansing—although I don’t harbor any illusion we won’t be butting heads again. I took the opportunity to ask him what he thought of Bodhi, since he appears to be the latest shift in our lives. It wasn’t so much him liking Bodhi that was in question, but rather how he liked Bodhi for me. With me.

Turns out that for an almost fifteen-year-old there’s no distinction. He thinks Bodhi is a cool guy, a firefighter, knowledgeable with engines, and therefore a suitable boyfriend for Mom. It’s that simple in my son’s mind.

The moment I slip under the covers, Bodhi reaches over and yanks me to the middle. When you’ve slept on a twin bed for months, you’re suddenly swimming in a king. I’m lucky I have Bodhi’s warm body to anchor me.

“Zip-lining is pretty fun. There’s a place on the west side of town, I went to school with one of the owners. I can call him tomorrow if you want,” he offers, stroking my hair from my face.

“Would you come? I’m sure Vic would be game. Maybe your sister?”

His eyes crinkle and lips curve up.

“Have you met my sister?”

“I’m gonna ask her anyway,” I stubbornly assert, which only makes him grin wider.

He rolls on his back and takes me with him. My ear is pressed to his chest, I love listening to his slow, steady heartbeat.

“On the off chance Anika comes, there would be five of us in total. Let me see if I can get a group discount.”

“Seven,” I correct him. “You’re forgetting Hayden and Tuck wants to invite Ravi, a new friend he made at school.”

“Seven. I’m on it.”

“And maybe after we can ask your parents to come for pizza and cake?”

“Mom will probably show up with enough food to feed a battalion, but I’m sure they’d love to come.”

Pleased everything seems to be coming together, I snuggle in, entwining my legs with his. Then suddenly I hear a buzzing sound and light vibrations run down my spine. I almost launch myself off him.

“Bodhi!”

He laughs and wraps me tightly in his arms.

“You forget I grew up with a sister. You’ll have to come up with a better hiding spot than the Tampax box.”