An Unexpected Turn Read online

  Dylan doesn’t seem to notice because he’s kneeling by a bag on the floor packing what looks like cleats and pads of some sort. Before I can decide if I should point it out to him, B-Rad looks over at him with those bright blue eyes. “Dylan, I don’t feel so good.”

  Dylan goes over and crouches next to him. He runs his hand through B-Rad’s hair, ruffling it, and takes the bag of candy.

  “Maybe going for junk food when you weren’t hungry all day wasn’t the best of ideas, huh? Why don’t you lay off it for a bit to see if that helps? We’re going to need to get going soon, so we can drop Riff off.”

  Dylan helps B-Rad up. “Why don’t you hop on the couch and rest for a few minutes? I’ve got to run and finish getting ready. Keep Teri company while I’m gone.” B-Rad curls up in the corner with a last pat on the head from Dylan. I hear something that sounds suspiciously like a snort from Riff’s side of the room. I glance over, and he is lightly shaking his head, but still focused on the ball.

  Dylan is out of the room and down the hall before I can even process that he left. Feeling awkward just standing there, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing after that quick introduction. I would have thought that Dylan would have done a little more to make all of us more comfortable before leaving us alone, especially if B-Rad isn’t feeling well. Sure, he’s talked about them, just as I’m sure he’s told them about me, but we are essentially strangers. He is usually so considerate, making sure others are comfortable, so I’m a little bit thrown.

  Going with what feels right, hoping it’s okay, I sit on the couch next to B-Rad. Distractions usually work with Rusty and Jorie so maybe trying to talk to him will help. He is lying there, hands wrapped around his middle with his head on the arm of the couch. Poor thing really does look miserable.

  “What were you eating? Was it your favorite?” Oh, good job distracting him! Talk about what made him sick. Brilliant move.

  “Ugh…My tummy hurts!” he moans.

  “I’m sure it does. Tummy aches are some of the worst.” Think! You don’t have a problem with this kind of stuff with Rusty and Jorie. You can talk about fire trucks, coloring and dress up all day. “This boy I know has a favorite toy that is a pink giraffe named Elmer.”

  “That’s stupid. Giraffes look cooler in green. Green is my favorite color. All toys should be green, but I can’t always get green, so I have to pick my second favorite color which is purple. Everything that isn’t green should be purple, purple and green everything, that would be awesome.” He goes quiet after that, then starts softly rocking.

  “What toys do you have that are green or purple? Do you have a favorite?” Fumbling for a way to distract a kid isn’t like me, but I feel so out of my element with him. I’m unsure of what I can do to make him feel better, if I should even try. It’s weird having to stop and question the things I would do naturally if I were in a similar situation with Jorie or Rusty.

  “My favorite is my bear, but he isn’t green or purple. He’s just plain ol’ brown, but he’s still my favorite. My mom gave him to me.” The quiet in the room takes on a heavy tone. Riff pauses the ball before B-Rad starts moaning quietly to go with the rocking.

  What’s taking Dylan so long? Simone has stopped digging through her backpack and is now drawing in a sketch pad she’d dug out along with a handful of different pencils. Every once in a while, I catch her peeking up at B-Rad and me, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “My tummy really hurts.”

  I place my hand on B-Rad’s forehead just to be sure it isn’t more than just too much candy. He feels a little warm, but I can’t tell for sure if he is running a fever or if my hands are chilled. The moaning quiets a bit with my touch, so I keep it up, running my hand through his hair.

  “Does your bear have a name? I bet it’s something big and growly.”

  So quiet I almost don’t hear him, “Dean.”

  “Like James Dean? Do you like old movies, too?”

  He looks over at me like I should already know who he is talking about before closing his eyes. “No. Dean from Supernatural. I don’t know that other guy.” I have to lean down to hear his answer because he gets quieter the more he talks. I think he’s beginning to fall asleep, but then he starts shifting around, grabbing his stomach and crying.

  “My godson, Rusty, the one with the giraffe, always says that it makes him feel better when his tummy aches if I rub his back. Would it be okay if I tried that?” I hate seeing any kid sick, and I’m willing to try what little I know if it makes him feel even a tiny bit better.

  He nods, and I manage to get him pulled over and curled up into my side, so I can start rubbing his back. He is still crying a little, and his arms are wrapped tightly around his middle.

  Simone packs up her drawing pad and gets up. She doesn’t say anything, but comes over and sits next to B-Rad. There is concern on her face as she pushes his hair away from his forehead. She looks over to Riff, but he just shrugs and goes to sit in her chair, watching us as he props his foot on the ball.

  Dylan still hasn’t come back out. I check the time on my phone. He’s been gone for at least twenty minutes. I thought that when he said he needed to finish getting ready, he just needed to get his wallet and keys or something. This poor kid is miserable and would be much better off with Dylan here. Instead, he is off somewhere else in the house. Getting ready can’t possibly be taking this long. Can it? Was it not obvious to him that B-Rad is feeling horrible?

  I’m confused and frustrated and a little irritated at his thoughtlessness. I wonder what they are thinking and feeling about all of this. It has to be weird for them to be tossed into a room with their brother’s date, one they’ve never met, then left to deal with her. Do they think any of this tonight is as strange as I do?

  B-Rad’s rocking has slowed, but he is still crying, and I’m beginning to worry that will just make him feel even worse. I’m considering which is more important to hunt down first, Dylan or a trash can in case it’s needed, when he walks back into the room. Something’s just off with him, but I can’t put my finger on it. He walks over to where we are sitting on the couch and kneels down while rubbing his hand over B-Rad’s head.

  “Hey, B-Rad. How’s it going? Feeling better?” Up close, I can see Dylan’s eyes are now red and his features are way more relaxed than they were when he first opened the door. If that weren’t enough evidence of what he’s been doing, the very distinctive, not-cologne smell emanating from his clothes is a dead giveaway. I take a deep breath to try and calm the irritation that starts to simmer. This is just too much. Deep breath? Not such a great idea at the moment.

  “Can I talk to you for a sec, Dylan?” Easing B-Rad over to Simone, I stand and grab his hand. I pull him up and through the door on the other side of the room and into what turns out to be the kitchen.

  Keeping my voice low, I grit out, “Are you high right now? Seriously? You have a sick brother in there.” I wave my hand out towards the living room. “You have another one you have to take and drop off at practice. We were supposed to go out, though it is obvious those plans need to change now, and of course that is okay because sick kids take precedence, but still, we had plans. And yet you decided right now would be a good time to get high? While we are all left sitting around waiting on you? And since when is that something you even do?” My voice is starting to rise. I’m so confused and frustrated and disappointed by his behavior. Never would I have predicted this kind of thing from him. It seems selfish and inconsiderate coming from the man that has always seemed so eager to put others first.

  He puts his hands up as though to calm me down even though I never got past a whisper shout. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine. Sure, I took a little hit, but I had a headache and still had a shit-ton of stuff to get done before we could go out, so I just smoked like half a joint, and I’m good. Seriously, I promise.” I can feel my eyebrows tighten as he speaks. Lik
e that makes anything better?

  Before I could even comment on any of that, we hear B-Rad starting to cry harder.

  I grit my teeth and work to keep my voice down. “He is really sick, possibly running a fever. More than likely he is going to be puking soon. I doubt he’s going to feel up to moving, so better find a trash can or a bucket or something just in case. Whatever else you had planned is going to have to wait because he is going to need… something. I don’t know what. I should probably leave so you can do that.”

  Dylan turns and yells at Riff to grab the trash can out of the bathroom and bring it in.

  He turns back to me. “Please don’t go. I still need to get Riff to practice. He can’t afford to miss, so he has to go. I also have this thing at the bank that needs to get taken care of tonight. If I take Simone with me and Riff, would you hang out here with B-Rad until I’m back? I shouldn’t be gone more than maybe forty-five minutes. I know this night has gone to shit, and you probably aren’t going to want to still go out after all of this, but can you stay long enough to do this for me, please?”

  What? Wow. I jerk my head back slightly, almost as a reflex. “Seriously? B-Rad doesn’t even know me. When a kid gets sick the ONLY thing they want is mom or dad. Can’t you just take him home?” The fact that I have to tell him that bothers me. It should be obvious that a sick kid takes priority. I’m struggling to see the care and concern that matches how he has talked about his relationship with these kids.

  His face tenses, and the look in his eyes is full of sadness. “He is home. Our mom died a couple of years ago, and none of our dads were ever in the picture. It’s just us. They’ve lived with me since mom died. I’m all they’ve got. Please? Will you help me out?”

  It takes a few seconds for what he said to sink in, for me to wrap my brain around the words and what they mean. In the nearly two months we’ve been dating, how had none of this managed to come up in conversation? I am stunned speechless. No, he was never one to talk about himself and was good at turning questions back to me or talking about his siblings, but I never realized how much he was avoiding. Without more details, I can only assume that talking about the circumstances would be painful, but I thought we’d gotten to know each other enough for him to share the fact that he’s raising his siblings.

  I feel horrible for them, but I also feel hurt. It feels like he’s lied to me about a massive part of his life. I’m struggling with conflicting reactions, torn between hurt for him and hurt for me. Sighing, I try to let it go for the moment because, right now isn’t about me or my hurt feelings. There is a sick little boy that can’t be left alone. “Alright. I’ll do this, but we will talk about this later. I am so sorry you lost your mom and for what you’ve gone through, but I’m also not happy that this is the first I’ve heard about any of this. I’m pretty hurt, actually. It feels like you gave it all to me in a drive-by info-dump and only because you were forced to. That is not cool, Dylan. At all.”

  As if he’d been holding his breath, he lets out a big sigh. “Thanks, Teri. This means a lot to me.”

  Puzzled by the amount of relief my agreement seems to bring, I’m stopped from asking more when Riff comes into the kitchen with a small trash can and hands it to me. As we are heading back to the living room, a distracted “Thanks” is on the tip of my tongue when I hear a slosh. A slosh. From a trash can. I’m afraid to look, but glance down. Sure enough, the bottom of the small can has about an inch of brown liquid in the bottom. Words like yuck, gross and eww are bouncing around in my head. I realize that I’m debating in my head all the various words in the English language to express my level of disgust, and I cannot come up with one. I find both the internal debate and the lack of words disturbing.

  I’m still staring at the mess when I stop by the couch. As I pick over those words in my head, it’s like my emotional basket tips. My nerves were already on edge before I left the house. Then I get here, and I’m pelted with one emotion after another, each piling on top of the last. Shock. Frustration. Irritation. Disappointment. Confusion. More shock. Hurt. A mix of grief and sympathy. And then a healthy dose of plain grossed out is that one thing too much. Switch flipped. Brain to mouth filter disengaged.

  “Did you spit in here? Like, mouthful of tobacco kind of spit?” Slowly, I raise my head to look at Riff.

  Riff just looks at me from under his hair, “Well, yeah. Not going to spit on the floor.” If I could have seen his eyes, I’m sure an eye roll got tossed my way.

  “That’s just gross. Other people have to use this. They have to see it and be in the same room with it. That’s… like… like… if I were to go and take a shit, and then come in here and wipe my ass on the couch. No one wants to see that. No one wants to be around that or sit on that or smell that. It’s nasty! And gross! And… Eww! You want me to put that in front of B-Rad!? Is your goal to MAKE him puke!?” Sputtering, I’m shocked that my brain allowed that level of inappropriateness to come flying out of my mouth. I’d be a little ashamed and a bit embarrassed or worried about the impression I just made, but I don’t think I have room for another emotion. Sure, Dylan is the reason, but apparently everyone, including the kids, are going to hear me spew it all out there and experience my potty mouth. Well, shit!

  Every single person in the room is looking right at me. I feel the blush start to crawl up my face into my cheeks. I’m tempted to just leave, but I can’t do that right after I’d said I would stay with B-Rad. I need to suck it up, pretend I didn’t just humiliate myself with my behavior and move on, quickly.

  “Whoa! Dylan, you didn’t tell us T was cool!” Apparently, potty mouth is the way to impress young teenage boys. Noted.

  Distract and evade. “Riff, can you get a new trash bag, please? After you take this one out and burn it. Okay, maybe not actually burn it. Just find some trash can that isn’t this one for that mess? Oh, and can you find B-Rad’s bear? I’m sure that will help.”

  Riff grabs the bag out of the can and goes to hunt those things down. Dylan has Simone gather her stuff while I head back over to B-Rad. He is still crying, even through my little meltdown. I feel his forehead again, and it still feels the same. I want to be sure, so I ask Dylan for a thermometer and some children’s fever reducer if he has any, just in case. I don’t want to have to try and hunt anything down once everyone is gone. After the trash can, I’m slightly terrified of what I might find.

  I’m frustrated by the fact that I need to be pointing out these obvious steps to him. Knowing now they have been his responsibility for a while makes it all much more confusing. Maybe he hasn’t had to deal with a sick kid yet? But… wouldn’t he be more worried if that were the case? He acts like this is no big deal.

  No sooner than I’ve got the clean trash can in place next to the couch, B-Rad’s stomach does an epic purge of of all that candy, thankfully into the trash can and not on himself, the floor, the couch or me. Riff dashes out of the room and comes back with the entire box of bags. Simone grabs the bag this time, while I get B-Rad settled back down again.

  I am immensely grateful for their help since vomit is one of the things that I don’t react to well, and I don’t want to contribute my own donation. Having found that out the hard way taking care of a very sick Jorie one weekend about a year before Rusty was born, I do my best to avoid those situations now. I don’t feel like this is one of the times I can opt out since I put myself in this position when I agreed to stay. If I’m lucky, his purge took care of whatever was upsetting his stomach, and it won’t be something I have to deal with after they leave.

  Simone brings me a bottle of medicine and the thermometer. I check B-Rad’s temp, and it’s low grade like I thought, but I don’t think it’s high enough for medicine. The can is back in place again, and I have all the supplies I might need for the next hour.

  I lose track of Dylan again in the middle of all that. I sit back on the couch, and B-Rad curls into me, laying his head o
n my lap. With him settled and calm again, I’m reminded how bizarre this whole situation is and why my emotions are ping-ponging across the spectrum.

  I’m rubbing B-Rad’s back to soothe him when Dylan finally walks back in. He tells Riff and Simone to grab their stuff and get ready to head out.

  “So after you drop Riff off, you are going to the bank? That will only take about forty-five minutes, right? B-Rad will be more comfortable with you here.” I say it more as a reminder, still not understanding his lack of concern.

  Dylan just looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Bank?”

  “Yeah, you said you needed to do something at the bank after dropping Riff at practice?”

  He looks at me blankly before turning away. “Right. Sure. Yeah, about that long. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  What the hell? One of the reasons he gave for needing to leave was the bank, yet he seems to actually have forgotten that he was going there? His movements are a little jittery, and he seems to be favoring his right side as he crosses the room.

  Riff and Simone tell B-Rad to get better and that they’ll see him soon. Dylan grabs something off the desk in the corner of the room, then they are out the door.

  Throwing up seems to have made B-Rad feel a little better because he isn’t crying anymore. It looks like he might even fall asleep, which he probably needs.

  I hope Dylan gets his shit done quickly. This is not what I signed up for. B-Rad is Dylan’s responsibility. I’ll help because it’s the right thing to do, but once Dylan gets back, I’m out.