Then came the work week which kept us busy enough--for the most part--to forget that we’d ever had another unwelcome weekend visitor. And by the time Brian’s birthday rolled around, the third Saturday of August, he was back to his old self once again. Even my own anxiety about The Future had faded. Exhaustion and heat and emotional turmoil can make a person paranoid, and it’s not wise to dwell on those types of feelings. It’s better to immerse yourself in cleaning and sex and work; to immerse yourself in how good it feels being in love right now. Because those are the things that are important, the things that matter. Not semi-conscious doubts about Somedays that follow you into your dreams.

   And then, during the last week of August, Brian and I attended two funerals.

   The first was for a local boy who’d been killed in the war. Twenty-three years old. Roadside bomb. The minister talked about heroism and patriotism and sacrifice and honor. We all nodded because no matter what we thought about the war we all knew that the soldier had been a hero. Then he talked about God’s Will and about Keeping Faith. He said the soldier was now Residing In The House Of His Father and we all nodded again; even Brian who didn’t really believe it. And after the funeral was over the soldier’s mother talked about her son.

   He liked to play the piano and work on cars. He had a big heart and a good sense of humor. He was intelligent. Focused. He wasn’t going to waste his life. No sir. He had a goal and he knew how to achieve it. Computer engineering, and that meant college. No way to pay so he signed up. Experience and Army College Fund. Because times are hard and money is tight and you do what you have to do. But he was her only child. And now he was gone.

   The second funeral was for one of Rachel’s friends who died in the gravel pit on the far side of town. Nineteen years old. Heroin overdose. The same minister talked about Not Losing Faith and about Taking Comfort in The Lord during these Difficult Times instead of turning to drugs. This boy, too, was Residing In The House Of His Father. It was all that the minister said, because what else can you say? And after the funeral the boy’s mother talked about her son.

   He was smart and funny, too, but not Focused. He was tired and discouraged. Because times are hard and sometimes people deal with their problems and sometimes they hide away in a haze. He wasn’t her only child, but he was the second one she’d buried. Same reason. And now both of her children were gone.

   After the funeral Rachel came home with us and Brian started to give her a lecture, another one, about Having Focus and Using Your Fucking Brains; but she left before he could get too far. Once her car was out of sight he took off in his truck, and he was still gone when I got back from work three hours later. When he finally got home he walked quickly past me without a word and headed straight for the shower. He wouldn’t tell me where he’d gone and I didn’t push the issue until I was picking his clothes up off the bathroom floor. And saw the blood on his shirt. So he said:

   “I kicked Tim’s ass. Me and Jeff did. Now maybe he’ll stay away from Rachel.”

   I just nodded and said, “Okay.” And after he kicked the wall three times he grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard. Because even when you have Focus sometimes you still need the haze. So I grabbed the blanket from his closet and the pillows from his bed and set us up outside. We drank too much and laughed a lot and before he fell asleep he muttered something about the stars, but I was too drunk to understand it.

   In the morning when we awoke we were both shivering and covered with dew. I was hung over but he wasn’t, and that didn’t seem fair. But neither is life sometimes and we both still had to make a living. Busy Friday. And I survived.

   On Saturday morning Dave arrived bright and early. Labor Day weekend. Fishing. My father had begged off at the last minute claiming sickness. Dave’s tone made it obvious that wasn’t the real reason but he didn’t let me in on what the real reason was. I knew him well enough to know that the matter was not open for discussion, so I let it go. I watched him silently while he transferred his gear into the back of Brian’s truck. He had offered to take his, but the back roads were rough and Brian’s truck was so old that a little extra damage wouldn’t even be noticed.

   “You be nice to him this weekend. He’s had a rough time lately.”

   Dave seemed surprised. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to him?”

   I shrugged. He was right, of course. This time around it was easy. Brian was just the guy my sister is seeing. If it worked out with us, then great. If it didn’t then he could say something like, that’s a shame, Tess, he was a nice guy but I’m sure you’ll find someone new before you know it, and that would be the end of it. Not like it had been when Jason and Tess became Jason-and-Tess.

   He hadn’t reacted well. He wouldn’t have even if the news had been broken to him gently; but gentle is exactly what it wasn’t. He’d come home unexpectedly from Boston College one fine Sunday morning in April because he’d broken up with a girlfriend, made a beeline right for Jason’s apartment to talk about it, or whatever it is men do after they’ve just broken up with a girlfriend. He walked in without knocking--because what’s more natural than a guy having a key to his best friend’s apartment?--and found us sitting together on the couch eating breakfast.

   Initially there was shock. All of us. Jason and I sat silently, cereal bowls shaking, waiting for Dave to speak. He stood in front of us for a horrible eternity, his mouth wide open, trying to process exactly what it was he was seeing. Because he’d just walked in on his little sister and his best friend. Sitting on his best friend’s couch. Eating breakfast together. Early in the morning. And his sister was wearing nothing but his best friend’s Def Leppard concert t-shirt.

   And that’s when the shock wore off. Next step: anger.

   Jason set his bowl down and stood up to face him, tried to speak, to explain. He got as far as It’s not like that…before Dave took a swing. Jason ducked and before Dave could try again I ran over and stood between them. Dave tried to go around me, tried to move me out of the way, but I clung tightly to Jason’s pajama bottoms while he tried to shake me loose, to get me out of the way. So I wouldn’t get hurt.

   Dave finally stopped struggling, just stood there, breathing heavily, looking at us; first me, then Jason. Like he still didn’t really believe it. And then he left without another word. He wouldn’t talk to either of us for weeks after that, despite a constant barrage of phone calls. And when he finally did he’d moved from anger to apprehension.

   By the time he came home for the summer he’d come to an acceptance of sorts.

   We hadn’t, of course, and it had been a huge nightmare for him when Jason-and-Tess began to unravel into Jason and Tess. A painful exercise in compartmentalization. Compartments with thick walls and no doors or windows. It had worked for a little while. But then, of course, came the affair and the separation and the divorce. And no walls were thick enough to contain the mess.

   Brian came towards us, struggling with a giant cooler full of beer, and Dave trotted over to help him. After they loaded it into the truck he asked Brian, “Is that everything?”

   “Now it is.”

   Dave nodded to me. “See you on Monday, Tess.”

   I nodded back.

   Brian came over to me. “I feel guilty about leaving you alone all weekend.”

   “I’ll be fine.”

   “You’ll be able to carry on without me?”

   “I’m sure I can manage for a few days.”

   He grinned. “And now I’ll get to find out what a horrible kid you were.”

   “I doubt it. Dave doesn’t run off at the mouth like some people I know.”

   “I bet if I funnel enough beer into him he’ll tell me everything.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. And I loved it. Passion and heat and...

   He gave me a kiss. And I watched them drive away.

   I’d told him I could carry on without him for a few days and it was true. But it was boring as hell. The garden was weeded, the house already clean, my place and his, and I’d read every book in the house. I flipped through my sketch pad, but the muses were still silent. There wasn’t anyone for me to visit. Rachel and Zeke were working, the Burkes were out of town. And the lake was still swarming with Flatlanders. Only two more days until most of them went back home for the winter. I’d be happier about the prospect if they weren’t going to be taking half my pay with them.

   I settled for a Star Wars movie marathon, bored enough to include the prequels, wasting a perfectly beautiful day and evening and night indoors. By the time Darth Vader cut off Luke Skywalker’s hand I’d polished off two bottles of wine, to ward off images of swingsets and bats and slides, but I still managed to stay awake until the second Death Star was destroyed. I fell asleep on the couch and spent the night dreaming of Alice’s workshop…

   Sunday morning dawned bright and sore. I couldn’t face another day alone, so after breakfast I drove down to Rachel’s apartment. I’d only been there once before. It was the smallest apartment I’d ever seen; a one room studio above a gift shop that was only open from Memorial Day to Labor Day. It didn’t open until noon on Sunday, so there were only two vehicles parked in the lot; Rachel’s clunker and a freshly waxed red sports car. I knocked on her door anyway.

   Tim answered. He was still bruised and battered, but not enough to keep him away. There was something creepy about him, something that went beyond the age difference between him and Rachel. Beyond the asshole drug dealer thing. That feeling. The one you sometimes get from a guy, that sort of spider-crawling-down-your-neck feeling that makes you want to squirm and wiggle and scrub yourself all over with a dozen Brillo pads.

   He grinned. “What can I do for you, Tess?”

   “Not a thing. I came to see if Rachel wants to go see a movie or something. You know,” I added, “girls day out.”

   Tim looked over his shoulder then back at me, “Rachel’s in the bathroom right now. She’s not feeling that good today.”

   “What’s the matter? Is it a flu? Or a--”

   He shrugged.

   “Does she need anything? I can run to the drugstore or--”

   “No. She’s all set.”

   His grim eyes set off every alarm in my body. “You know, I think I’ll stick around anyway. Just to make sure.”

   He rolled his eyes, backed up a step, and let me in. I looked around. Everything seemed okay. Normal. Nothing broken or out of place--no more than usual, anyway. Laundry in a heap in the corner. Dirty dishes and food still out on the counter and table. Sofa bed unmade, sheets and blankets draping off of it.

   “Well,” he said. “I’m gonna take off.”

   “Good.”

   He grabbed his keys from the counter. “Real nice, Tess.”

   After the door closed behind him I shuddered. I hated the way my name sounded in his voice.

   I heard the shower start in the bathroom and looked around the apartment again. It was disgusting. I couldn’t do the dishes, because it would probably cut off her water. There was no way I was going near the bed. So I settled for picking up the kitchen.

   Dishes in the sink. Good food back in the fridge, spoiled food in the trash. Wiped up the counter and table.

   A little better at least.

   The shower was still running. I braved a trip into the living room area; avoided the bed, sorted through the mess on the coffee table. More dishes, pizza crust, beer bottles. Rolling papers and a lighter.

   And a bag from the pharmacy.

   I looked at it. Pondered. The shower was still running so I picked up the bag. There was no bottle or container of any kind inside it, but there was a paper, printed with instructions and warnings. I took a deep breath. Examined my conscience. Then slipped it out.

   Doxycylcine.

   It was an antibiotic. And I knew what it probably meant.

   The shower stopped. I shoved the paper into the bag and tossed it back on the coffee table. Covered it up with the trash. Scooted back into the kitchen and waited for Rachel at the table. She got two steps into the living room before she saw me and stopped abruptly.

   “What the hell are you doing here?”

   “Hello to you, too.”

   She looked around. “Where’s Tim?”

   “He took off. Did you guys have plans?”

   She looked at the coffee table. The sofa bed. Back at me. Shook her head.

   “Wanna go see a movie?”

   She thought it over. “Sure, I guess. Gimme a sec.”

   She headed back into the bathroom and shut the door. I drummed my fingers on the table. Tapped my foot against the chair leg. Traced the lines of my palm with my fingernail. Noticed, for the first time, that the line that went from the webbing between my thumb and pointer to the bottom of my hand was quite long and I wondered if that was normal. Wondered if it was my lifeline or something else…

   Nearly twenty minutes passed before she came back out again and sat across from me. Hair and makeup just so. More makeup than usual. And I knew why.

   “You know,” I said, “concealer and foundation don’t cover up bruises.”

   On her left cheek. Big and dark, even under the makeup. She shrugged.

   “What the hell are you doing with him, Rachel?”

   “What? Haven’t you ever got a little rough in the sack before, Tess?”

   “I’m not stupid enough to think that’s what happened to you. He did that to you because of what Brian did to him.”

   She shrugged again. “What should I expect? I’m fucking a drug dealer.”

   “You need to stop doing that.”

   “Don’t worry. He’s done with me anyway. This morning was his last…whatever it was.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s bored with me and now he’s moved on to another girl. She’s seventeen. So I probably won’t see him around here again.”

   Thank God. Little Miss Seventeen’s family could worry about her. But.

   “Does that mean he’s gonna cut you off?”

   “Tess, I told you. I’m not into that shit.” She held out her arms.

   “I’m a lot of things, Rachel, but I’m not an idiot. And there’s other shit you can do that doesn’t involve needles. So how about this. I promise not to give you any lectures if you promise to tell me the truth for a change.”

   She sighed. Scratched her arms vigorously for a few seconds and rolled her sleeves back down. Then she told me the truth.

   She’d tried just about everything Tim had to offer that didn’t need to be injected. But she’d been careful, she said, because she knew that he wasn’t going to stick around forever. And once it was over the free ride was, too, and then where would she be? The same place half a dozen of his other throwaways were right now: selling themselves to the Lake Kids in the summer and to Tim and his sick friends in the winter.

   The funeral had scared her, too, and that’s when she decided to stop. Even before Brian’s lecture, even before he beat Tim senseless. She missed it already, especially Oxycontin--she liked that more than anything because it made all the hurt go away, and she needed that--but it wasn’t as bad as it might be. It was hard but she had it under control now. She had enough left to wean herself off and then she’d be all set. I nodded, just like I knew what she meant, even though I didn’t. Because I’d never used it. But at least it wasn’t heroin. I’d never done that, either, but I knew enough. Knew that once you get started on That you just can’t quit. And then she told me one more thing.

   “Tim gave me the clap.”

   I tried to seem shocked. It wasn’t too hard, because even though I’d figured it out, it was a different thing altogether to hear the words.

   “Dr. Stephens gave me something for it. But I was stupid and let Tim fuck me again, so I probably oughtta go back and get checked out. Again.”

   I nodded. And I repeated, “Rach, you need to leave him alone.”

   “I already told you. He’s done with me.”

   I ran my hand through my hair. Tapped my foot on the table leg. And I said it, even though I’d promised no lectures. “I don’t give a shit. You need to be done with him.”

   She glanced over at the sofa bed again, and I recognized the look on her face. Because I knew the feeling. When the sex isn’t about love or connection, when it isn’t even about being horny or about having fun. When it’s about hiding away. Burying and forgetting. When it’s almost a compulsion.

   I stood up. “Let’s get this place cleaned up.”

   “What?”

   “Seriously. It’s a pig hole. And you’re not a pig. You’re too decent a person to live like this. And you especially don’t need that…” I nodded at the sofa bed, “…staring at you all day.”

   She rolled her eyes, but stood up. And we cleaned. I made her change the sheets while I finished up the kitchen and we tackled the rest together. It took us almost two hours. And when we were finished she asked me about Having Focus.

   “Did you start your cleaning business right out of high school?”

   “Nope.” I stretched slowly, concentrated on each vertebrae as it snapped and popped. “I worked at a convenience store, a Qwik Stop, until right after I started living with Jason. I guess you could say he inspired me to start my business.” She seemed interested, so I told her.

   I moved in with him shortly after Dave found out about us. I hadn’t even been there a week before he’d had enough of my constant cleaning. Toilet, carpet, sink, fridge, floor. Over and over, even when they didn’t need it. Rewashed the dishes after he’d already done them, remade the bed after he’d already made it. Because it wasn’t Quite Right. The final straw came one morning when I grabbed his coffee cup right out of his hand before he was actually done with it.

   “Goddamn it, Tess, give that back. If you have to clean something, go clean my mom’s house. Or your mom’s house. Or anybody else’s house. The Superintendent is looking for someone to clean her house twice a week. Jesus, go do that and get it out of your system.”

   And so I did. Just to get it out of my system. That led to another job, and then another. After three months I was able to quit the Qwik Stop, but I didn’t get the cleaning out of my system. Because nothing, ever, was going to be quite clean enough.

   I didn’t say that to Rachel. I told her instead that she could make some changes in her life if she put her mind to it. But she said she didn’t have any skills. Not like me or Brian or Zeke. Laura had tried to talk her into going to hair cutting school but that didn’t interest her, either. And before I could say something that was encouraging and appropriate she changed the subject. I didn’t push it, because, after all, I had all day. Longer, even. Rachel wasn’t quite twenty, and that meant that I had plenty of time to help her. That she had plenty of time for making changes. For doing lots of things.

   We went out to see a movie, a stupid chick flick that made us both cry, then we ate supper out at Friendlys. We even shared a huge hot fudge sundae with extra whipped cream and nuts, something I hadn’t treated myself to in forever. And on the way home I talked to her some more about Focus. About going to school. Not a lecture; just something to think about. Because she had lots of options open to her. There was a big demand for nurses in the state, anything in the medical field for that matter. Or secretarial work. Or...whatever she wanted, really. The sky was the limit. Even if times were hard and money was tight. There were ways to get help for things like tuition and books.

   She said she’d think about it, then she changed the subject again. Talked about her dad. She hadn’t seen him or heard from him in weeks, even though she’d decided not to tell him to get lost. But it was okay, she said. Because it’s what she’d expected. Brian was right about him after all. And so…it was okay. I knew that it wasn’t okay, but there wasn’t anything either of us could do to change it. Then she said:

   “You won’t tell Brian about my little problem, will you?”

   “I won’t tell him about you getting the clap.”

   She sighed. “What about…the other thing.”

   I looked at her face, at the bruise that was visible even through the makeup, even with only the headlights of oncoming cars for illumination. I probably should tell him about it. But what if I did? He couldn’t unbruise her. Nothing he’d do would make it fade any quicker. And there would be Guilt. The kind that came from knowing that instead of protecting his sister, he’d pissed Tim off enough to take it out on her. And now that Tim had found a new Sweet Young Thing to corrupt he probably would leave Rachel alone.

   “I’ll keep the rest to myself as long as you stay away from Tim.”

   “You don’t have to worry about that.”

   And by the time I dropped her off at her apartment she looked happy. Looked like she might be okay. And I knew she would be, someday.

   Just a matter of time.

   And then came Monday afternoon, Labor Day. I ate lunch at Zeke’s because I knew the place would be almost empty and that meant we could talk. The ballgame was on, bottom of the eighth, but it wasn’t holding the attention of the only two other customers in the place. They were too busy making out, hot and heavy, right there at their table, oblivious to the rest of the world. I lowered my voice anyway.

   “Zeke, can you do me a favor?”

   “Probably.”

   “I need you to help me keep an eye on Rachel.”

   I waited, watched him closely. He was usually pretty good at the poker face, unless he wanted to be discovered. This was one of those times. He knew something about Rachel and wanted me to know that he did. Still, I’d have to be careful. I started my digging this way:

   “You know…when I was a kid I loved Oreos. If I was left on my own I would’ve eaten them for every meal and for dessert, too.”

   He nodded.

   “But I started getting fat. So...my mother put me on a diet. No more Oreos. And it worked because I lost the weight.”

   Another nod.

   “And now that I’m older I get the fact that I can have an Oreo every so often as a nice treat, but that if I eat too many of them my ass is gonna get huge. And everything is fine.”

   He rubbed his nose. Cleared his throat.

   “There are some people who love Oreos so much...that they can’t stop eating them. Even if it makes them fat. Even if it makes them sick. Sometimes they’ll go on a diet and they’ll do well for awhile. But...their friends have to keep an eye on them to make sure that they’re not cheating on their diet.”

   It was my turn to nod. “You know, Zeke...Brian’s been a little stressed out lately.”

   “He’s been a little stressed out for a long time.”

   “Exactly. So the next time you see any cookie crumbs around Rachel’s mouth…can you call me first? Instead of him?”

   “Sure thing.”

   I stuck around long enough to watch the Red Sox lose. On my way out I kicked Make Out Guy’s chair. He and his girl jumped, and that made me smile.

   Brian and Dave got home a few hours later. I helped them bring the gear into the kitchen and when we were done Dave said, “So I’ll see you guys at the end of the month.”

   Brian nodded. I wracked my brain, but came up with nothing. “Why will we see you then?”

   Dave just smiled. “Bye Tess.”

   I watched through the window as he drove away, then turned to Brian. He was unloading what appeared to be a dozen foil-wrapped trout from a small lunchbox sized cooler into the freezer. “We’re going to Dave and Kim’s at the end of the month?”

   “Yeah.”

   “What for?”

   “To spend the night.”

   “Why?” He was still concentrating on the fish. “Hello?”

   “We’re gonna watch Matthew so they can go away for a night.”

   “What?”

   He closed the freezer door and smiled defiantly. “Yeah. They haven’t had a night alone since he was born and they need one. It shouldn’t be too difficult, Tess,” he goaded. “You watch Cassidy, so what’s the difference?”

   I didn’t want to talk about Cassidy. She was starting school on Wednesday, so tomorrow would be our last full day together until her next school vacation in November. Only an hour or so twice a week until then, barely enough time for crayons. It sucked big time, but it wasn’t the point, so I got back to it.

   “There’s a huge difference between watching an eight year old and a--wait a sec. Don’t close that cooler yet.”

   “Why not? It’s empty.”

   “Let me bleach it first or you’ll never get the fish smell out.”

   He shrugged and closed it up anyway. “So? The only thing that ever goes in here is fish.”

   I sighed and continued. “I don’t know the first frigging thing about babies.”

   “Maybe not, but I do. That’s why I said we are going to watch him. Besides, you should know about them.”

   “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

   “Jesus Christ, Tess, back off. I just think you should get to know your nephew before he gets to be eight years old and doesn’t know who the hell you are. If you keep this up he won’t even know your name by then. There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know. He won’t bite. Well, he might if he’s teething. How old is he, again?”

   “He’s…” I did some quick backwards math. “He’ll be six-and-a-half-months old at the end of the month. And I’m not afraid. I’m just...”

   He waited for me to answer but I wasn’t sure ‘just what’ the problem was. And when he realized I wasn’t going to finish my sentence after all he smiled, came over to me and put his hands on my arms. His touch said, I’m trying to reassure you but his eyes told me he really was getting a kick out of my apprehension.

   “You’re not going to hurt him. Or break him. Babies are pretty easy. All you gotta do is feed him a bottle and probably some mashed carrots every so often and play with him a little. And change his diaper--”

   “If anyone’s changing a diaper it’s you.”

   “Fine. I’ll change the diapers. At least the shitty ones. You can deal with the rest.”

   “Wait a minute. I didn’t even say I’d do it.”

   “Then pick up the phone and call your brother.” He laughed. “‘Gee, I sure am sorry, but you can’t get away with your wife because I’m afraid of your baby.’”

   “Oh, bite me. You two set me up. That sucks.”

   He smiled at me again and didn’t deny it. I let him pull me closer anyway, because he smelled like campfire. And because he was right. The kid was my nephew and Dave and Kim really did need to get out. It had been longer than Brian knew since they’d had any time alone together. They’d taken me into their home--mopey, lonely Tess--months before Mathew was born. Dave had made me stay with them so I could get over Jason by filling my face with Kim’s snack cakes. Instead of filling my bed with a different kind of snack. I owed them at least one night to themselves.

   “You change the shitty ones,” I said to his chest.

   “Yep.”

   “And you get up with him if he bawls in the middle of the night.”

   “Yep.”

   I was silent for a minute, trying to figure out what other irritating or disgusting things babies did that I wanted no part of. “I don’t do boogers.”

   “Fine.”

   “Okay then.”

   He laughed. “Cheer up. It’ll be great.”