Watching Trin by Freya Barker
Chapter 4
Trin
“Mom!”
Tuck comes running into the kitchen where I’m propped up against the fridge, my ass on the floor amid shards of broken plates. He must’ve heard the crash.
“Are you okay?”
Pops is looming by the sink, his fists clenched by his sides.
“It’s fine, kiddo. I…slipped. Fell on my ass and dropped the damn dishes.” I reach up a hand. “Help me up, will you?”
My boy, already as tall as I am, hoists me to my feet while I keep an eye on my father. Tuck, apparently is watching me.
“If you fell on your ass then how come one side of your face is red?”
My hand automatically comes up and I wince when I touch my swollen jaw.
“I must’ve bumped it.”
His eyes slide to my father, who hasn’t moved yet and is still glaring at me.
“What’s wrong with Gramps?”
“Hey, you have to hustle if you wanna catch the bus. You’re already on thin ice at school, you can’t be late.”
The same suspicious glance he aimed at Pops is now directed at me. The kid’s too smart. I’m sure he sees right through my attempt at diversion, but he still heads down the hallway and grabs the backpack he dropped at the base of the stairs.
“Sure you’re all right?” he asks again, looking back at me.
I plaster a smile on my face, grinding my teeth not to flinch at the pain.
“You bet.”
He casts one last glance at his grandpa before walking out the door.
Shit.
I turn to my father and hold up my hands, palms out. I’m trying to put on a calm front but inside I’m still shaking.
“Pops, why don’t you sit down at the table and I can grab you some orange juice.”
“I. Want. Coffee.”
He grinds the words between clenched teeth.
He can’t have caffeine with the blood pressure medication he’s on and it was easier for all of us to switch over. We’ve gotten used to drinking the decaffeinated stuff, and if either Vic or I need a jolt of the real stuff we go out and grab one at the coffeeshop on Main Avenue. Unfortunately we ran out yesterday and I forgot to pick any up. Earlier I offered him decaf tea instead, but that didn’t go over well. He accused me of trying to poison him. Came after me when I carried the dirty dishes to the kitchen, grabbed my arm, swung me around, and backhanded me across the face.
I’ve read enough to know these mood swings and personality changes are part of the scope of dementia, but I hadn’t expected the violence.
Never in my entire life has Pops ever lifted a hand to me or my sister. Not ever. But this morning he hit me so hard I hit the floor.
“Okay, tell you what, why don’t I give Vic a call and ask her to pick some up on her way home tomorrow.”
I’m shocked to find myself backing into the hallway to grab my phone from my bag just so I can keep an eye on him. From one moment to the next I no longer feel safe around the man who’d always represented the epitome of safety to me, and it breaks my heart.
After leaving a message—she wasn’t answering her phone—I grab the remote and find Grand Torino. I recorded it the other day when I was scrolling after Pops went to bed. Then I sit down on the stairs and wait.
It takes a few minutes for his attention to focus on the screen instead of me and slowly I see his body relax. Eventually he ends up on the couch, but I don’t move until I hear his soft snores, indicating he dozed off for a nap.
* * *
“Hey, Tuck. How was school?”
He kicks off his shoes, as usual, leaving them in the middle of the entryway and tossing his backpack halfway up the stairs.
“Fine.”
His eyes narrow on me and his mouth thins. I tried to cover the evidence with makeup as best I could but, judging from the look on Tuck’s face, the bruising is still visible. He doesn’t say anything but walks to the fridge and pulls the doors open, just standing there contemplating the contents like he does every day when he comes home.
“Bud, pick something and close the damn door, will ya?”
“We’ve got nothing to eat,” he grumbles, slamming it shut. My face forgotten for the moment.
“There’s cheese, smoked ham, you can make a sandwich.”
“Too much work. Can I have Pop-Tarts?”
He throws me puppy eyes, complete with pout, something that isn’t half as cute as it was when he was still my little boy.
“Gramps ate the last one before he went down for his nap. Why don’t I make you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich instead?”
“Fine.”
He stomps off to the living room and plops down on the couch, flicking the TV on.
Wonderful. His attitude hasn’t improved since the incident at the school a few weeks ago. He was lucky he got off with a three-day in-school suspension, but he still won’t talk about what happened. I’ve tried.
I grab the cheese and ham from the fridge and slap Tuck’s sandwich together with jerky movements. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around everyone these days. Vic, who’s still on my case about not locking the door, I’m worried about what’s going on with Tuck, and now Pops is getting violent. This move was supposed to improve everyone’s life, but instead things seem to be going downhill. I’m starting to wonder if I made the right decision coming here.
My eyes drift out the kitchen window where the day promises to be a dreary one.
I wasn’t lying when I told Bodhi my life is in chaos; it certainly feels that way. The offer of dinner with the handsome firefighter—and anything that might infer—has tempted me more than once these past two weeks. A few times I had my phone in my hand, almost calling the number he left me. The desire to just be me—not defined by the needs of others—is strong, but if this morning’s incident is an indication of what lies ahead, things are about to get more complicated.
Maybe some day in the future, when I have some semblance of control in my life. Of course by then the man with the kind heart and warm eyes will have long forgotten the impromptu offer of the slice of normalcy he extended.
An acrid smell breaks through my spinning thoughts and my eyes snap to the stove, where the pan is starting to smoke. Quickly I turn off the burner and slide the sandwich on a plate. I startle when I swing around and find Pops standing behind me. I didn’t even hear him come downstairs.
“Is that for me?”
His eyes are on the plate I almost dropped.
“This one’s for Tuck but I can make you one.”
His eyes meet mine and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to throw another fit and brace myself, but then he smiles and nods before shuffling to the kitchen table. When I look over at Tucker, I notice he’s halfway up from the couch, his eyes following Pops.
* * *
Bodhi
“How’s your dad?”
Vic hands me the pile of dirty dinner plates and I rinse them under the faucet before stacking them in the dishwasher. We rotate kitchen duties in pairs and tonight Vic and I are responsible for dinner and clean up.
Meals at the fire station tend to be simple and easy to reheat, mainly because—like tonight—we could get called out at any time. The only one who goes all out every time is Sumo, a great cook, which only makes it harder when we get called out and one of his gourmet meals ends up in the garbage.
No one really mourned the merely serviceable lasagna Vic and I threw together that ended up in the bin tonight. Not that I would’ve had an appetite after the call we had.
The alarm came in from a bakery downtown. One of their employees had been mixing dough in an industrial mixer, prepping for tomorrow, when the giant beaters seized. The idiot stuck his hand in to loosen them and got his arm caught. The result was a gruesomely twisted hand and forearm with several open fractures. It took dismantling the entire machine before we were able to extricate the guy. The damage was so extensive I don’t know if it’s even fixable.
“No more adventures,” she shares. “At least none outside of the house.”
What I really want to know is how her sister is doing, but the fact she hasn’t used my number is a clear indication I must’ve misread her cues. Too bad. The woman’s been on my mind a lot. She’s nothing like Vic who is blonde, athletic, stacked, and only a couple of inches shy of my height. Katrina is short—even next to me—has lush reddish hair, nicely rounded hips, and those unique pale eyes. It’s not that I can’t see Vic’s appeal, it’s that I’m completely captivated by her sister’s unique beauty.
“My grandmother—Mom’s mom—lived with us her last few years when I was still in high school. She had dementia. I know it became a full-time job for my mother to care for her and put a stress on our entire family. Numerous times she’d wander off, completely oblivious to her surroundings, and we’d be roaming the streets to find her.” I put the last of the glasses in the dishwasher and add detergent, before closing the door and turning it on. “It’s a tough situation on everyone.”
Vic crosses her arms over her chest defensively and regards me closely.
“Are you trying to make a point?”
Touchy.
“No. At least nothing other than the offer of a friendly ear of someone who can appreciate what you’re dealing with. That’s all,” I dismiss her and start walking toward the sleeping quarters.
It’s late and I want to grab as much sleep as I can before the next alarm sounds.
“Wait.” A hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to face her. “I’m sorry. I thought…” She hesitates. “I know you heard me go off on my sister, and I thought you were calling me out on that.” She raises a hand. “Not that I wouldn’t deserve it. I was a bitch and, uh, things have been strained at home. I know I should apologize to her but there never seems to be a good time.”
“Now is always a good time for an apology,” I impart a bit of wisdom, courtesy of my level-headed father.
She grimaces. “Yeah, I guess so.”
* * *
“…Engine 3. Medic 3…”
I swing my legs over the side and rub the remnants of sleep away before launching myself out of bed. There’s a reason we usually sleep dressed at the firehouse.
“…Swift water rescue, 29th Street Park…”
I’m right behind Hog, running down the stairs, and over to the rig where our turnout gear is waiting for us to step into. By the time I’m turning left on East 3rd Avenue, barreling through the dark streets, Cap is able to give us a more detailed report.
A witness heard voices calling from the river and spotted an overturned raft with two, maybe three, victims hanging off the side just north of the East 32nd Street bridge. The rapids start about half a mile south of the bridge, right by the park. Dispatch is sending other rescue units farther down the river just in case.
“Who the fuck would take out a raft in the middle of the goddamn night?” Hog grumbles behind me.
“College kids, idiots, drunks, or any combination of those. Take your pick,” Vic suggests dryly.
In spring—with the water volume up in the Animas River due to the snow runoff—the rapids are at their most dangerous. However, we’ve had quite a bit of rainfall, especially this past week, so the water is high and the river unpredictable and treacherous. Especially at night.
“Got that right,” Cap mutters.
I pull into the small riverside park, Medic 3 right behind us, and stop as close as I can to the edge of the water, aiming the headlights at the churning tide. It took us a total of six minutes to get here from the time the call went out. Given the speed of the current and the location the raft was first spotted, we’re going to have to hustle or we’ll miss them.
“Cheddar and Roadkill, suit up. Vic, you and Hog set up floodlights and secure safety lines. Hurry!”
The idea is to tie both of us off to the safety lines attached to the rig, before we head into the river to try, and intercept the raft. I just hope to God the victims are still hanging on.
“I see it!” Vic yells out just as we step into the water.
I take a quick look, catch a glimpse over the rolling whitecaps, and hear screams when a side of the capsized raft hits the first drop. I grab a firm hold of my toss bag and dive into its path. Cheddar is downstream, hopefully ready to catch whatever gets by me.
Blindly reaching out, my hand hits rubber and I manage to hook on to the grab rope that loops through the rings on the outside of the raft.
“Pull!” I yell to the shore, where the rest of the crew is manning the safety lines.
I feel the pull of the harness as I focus on hanging on to the raft while the others work against the strong current to get us to shore.
“Two victims hanging on!” Cap calls out.
I hope that’s all there was to begin with.
The victims turnout to be fucking kids. Hog is standing in shallow water and pulls the first victim from the river, while I grab on to the second one. God, they’re no more than maybe fifteen, if that. Stupid kids. Half-drowned and hypothermic from the perpetually cold mountain water.
Blue and Sumo quickly take over the kid Hog pulled out, who seems to be in worse shape than the one I have. I quickly roll him on his side when he starts puking as Vic comes running up with an extra thermal blanket.
“Were there just the two of you?” I ask him.
His eyes widen and he frantically looks around.
“Th-three,” he manages through chattering teeth. “He w-went under at the f-f-first w-wave.”
I don’t hesitate and start running up the shoreline, toward the first drop I saw the raft go over. Maybe the third victim had been able to grab on to one of the rocks. Someone is manning one of the floodlights, panning the water. I scan the surface, hoping to see something, anything.
“There,” Cap says as he jogs up beside me and points at a head bobbing up, right before it disappears again.
I shove my regulator in my mouth, pull my mask back over my face, and rush into the river. The lights mounted on either side of my mask are barely helpful under the surface but I forge ahead, using my hands to search. Every so often I surface and find Cap on shore for navigation.
I’m starting to lose hope of ever finding the third victim when I feel something brush my hand. I grab a handful of what I assume is hair and kick to the surface, but I can barely lift his head out of the water. He’s stuck on something.
A heavy hand falls on my shoulder and I turn to see Cheddar right behind me. I lift the regulator from my mouth.
“He’s stuck, hold his head above water. I’m gonna check it out.”
He gives me a thumbs-up and takes the kid from me. I replace my airflow and duck under the surface. The water seems a little calmer here and I’m able to follow the kid’s body down to where his foot is caught on something. It looks like the wreckage of a car but I don’t have time to investigate, I have to get the kid out of the water if we have any chance of saving him. One firm rip has him loose.
Cheddar is already heading back to shore with the boy and I follow behind.
Sumo takes the kid from Cheddar, checks for a pulse, and starts compressions. I toss off my mask and tank before dropping down on my knees beside the boy’s head and get ready to give him a breath. Vic comes running up with a backboard and the medical kit from our rig.
“I’ve got a pulse,” Sumo indicates, turning to Vic. “Bag him.”
She pulls the Ambu bag from the kit and I make room for her by his head.
“Oh my God…”
She drops the mask, clasping her hand over her mouth as she stares at the victim in shock.
“Vic?” I pick up the mask, cover the kid’s mouth, and start squeezing the bag. “Do you know him?”
“Yeah…” Her eyes dart my way. “It’s my nephew.”