Chapter 5
JACE
It was pure chance that one of the teachers at Gerry’s school is an emergency placement foster parent.
Mrs. Stevens reminds me a lot of Mama Sue.
Considering where I live – or rather who I live with – I would have left my little brother with her if it were possible; however, she doesn’t like to do any long term placements.
And I get it. It hurts too much to get attached only to have the kids yanked away when their parents regain custody. Reunification is unfortunately the goal, despite the fact that some people should not be parents.
Gerry, though, has a leg up on me. Apparently, our father had already told him all about me. While I was absolutely blindsided by the fact that I have a brother, Gerry has known about me since the DNA testing site matched us.
From what social services found, his mother’s side of the family are all dead or super private. The woman who gave birth to him died in childbirth and not knowing her was what drove the kid to do the testing.
“How long will I have to stay here?” Gerry asks, trailing me down the driveway to where my motorcycle awaits me. “Mrs. Stevens only has ONE television. Did you know TVs haven’t always been flat screens? And it’s got this thing called cable… not even Netflix!”
Swinging my leg over the bike, I chuckle.
The kid is a lot more confident and bratty than I ever was at his age, but I don’t really mind it.
At his age, I was more concerned about being safe and getting fed than anything on a screen.
I never want him to experience that. That’s the whole reason I am here right now instead of back in Wrenshaw working on a new project.
“I have to move some things around back home,” I tell him, mentally tallying everything as the anxiety climbs higher – not that I’ll let him see it.
“Plus, you have to finish off the last week of school. I don’t know how long you’re gonna be staying with me while your dad is in the hospital, and I don’t want you to get stuck with summer school cuz you couldn’t wait. ”
Or resent me for pulling you away from your friends without giving you a chance to say goodbye.
Having an eight-year-old glare at me like some of the Sadists try to at the Devil’s Club is pretty humorous.
We’ve had some disagreements over the last few days because I refuse to call David Whitetower “Dad”, and Gerry refuses to accept that his father would ever answer to “David” if I called him that.
I’ve let him keep the argument going because it’s a good distraction from what the doctors have been telling me. The swelling on our father’s brain isn’t going down, and if he doesn’t wake up within the week, I will have to make the decision to…
“Drive safe, Jason,” Mrs. Stevens calls out from the porch, waving Gerry inside for dinner. “Keep me informed, please. I will make sure Gerald gets to finish off this last week of school, but I do have plans in place in a few weeks.”
I nod before securing my helmet. While the woman is a wonderful person, she is only a temporary stop for my little brother.
I need to get home and talk to Eli, the landlord, a real estate agent…
There are a lot of big changes to make in preparation for raising this eight-year-old who is about to become an orphan.
The hour ride to the hospital gives me too much time to think about the past. There is zero chance of me letting Gerry test the odds in the foster care system; however, I know my life as it is would not exactly be considered conducive to raising a kid.
I need to secure appropriate housing, an actual vehicle, and find a job that won’t have me out almost every damn night until well past midnight.
Plus, with the summer starting, I’ll have to figure out some sort of childcare as well.
It’s not like I can take him to the bars with me.
While I make plenty of money off my art – honestly it’s the functional custom pieces that bring in the big money – I can’t exactly bring a kid around while I’m working on those things.
I can see it now:
“What are you making, big brother?”
“Oh, just a custom collapsible sex swing and pup crate combination, kid.”
Yeah, that will really go over great with social services.
“Good afternoon, Mister Whitetower,” the security officer greets me before handing me the visitor badge for the ICU where my father is. “Doc Shirley said if you come in today to let her know, so she’ll probably be stopping in.”
With a nod to acknowledge him, I clip the badge to my t-shirt and head for the elevators.
A few of the nurses who ride up with me look anxious being in an enclosed space with me, but I try not to let it bother me.
It’s the burden I took on when I decided that my own safety trumps the comfort of strangers.
The ones up in the ICU don’t flinch around me anymore, at least.
Fuck, I wish I had Sox with me. He doesn’t often leave the house anymore except for trips to the bar or the club when I will be slinging drinks.
At David’s room, I notice a lot of the machines they had in there yesterday have been removed.
From the research I have been doing in the hotel room the last few nights, that could be a good thing.
More than likely, though, it means that they weren’t doing any good for him and went to someone they will hopefully help.
“Mister Whitetower?”
Turning toward the doorway, I vaguely recognize the woman as the doctor that explained everything to me after the surgery.
“Call me Jace, please,” I tell her and wave her over to the chairs in the corner of the room. Judging by the look on her face, the removal of the machines is not a good thing.
“Jace, then. Can I be blunt with you?”
My lips turn up in a bit of a mocking smile as I nod.
I hate it when people are blunt and act like I don’t have any feelings just because of how I look.
But this isn’t a situation where I can be picky about it.
Without my friends – without Sox – I don’t have the luxury of being emotional. If I let it out, it won’t stop.
“Your father is not going to wake up,” she says with a sigh. “The swelling did not go down and as of this morning, there is no longer any brain activity. It is only machines keeping his body functioning at this point.”
My head bobs while she goes over all of the medical jargon for what went wrong – nothing – and all of the steps they took for him. From the moment they said neurosurgeon in the emergency department, I knew to mentally prepare for this outcome – every rider does.
“As for organ donation, your father’s license did not indicate one way or another.”
“Let me look into it,” I blurt out before she can start the sales pitch.
“I’ll check for papers at the house and ask my brother if he knows what his dad would have wanted.
Can I have a week? I know my brother would want to say goodbye to him, but I don’t want to ruin the last week of third grade for him. ”
For the first time since she came into the room, the doc actually looks like there’s a person beneath her mask of indifference.
After handing me some pamphlets on organ donation, I’m left alone in the room with my father’s body.
The whoosh of the ventilator pushing air in and out of his lungs is the only sound as I finally let the tears fall from my eyes.
“Why didn’t you want me, Daddy?” I whisper after God only knows how long holding it inside my heart. “Mom always said you left us when she found out she was pregnant. That you ran off because you didn’t want a kid. Was that even true? Did you even know I existed?”
How much of what she said was a lie?
A soft knock from behind jolts me from my thoughts, and the nurse asks me if I need anything, reminding me that visiting hours will be ending soon.
Glancing at my phone, I realize I have been standing here for hours.
Shaking my head, I grab my helmet from the chair, and head down to my bike.
As much as I wish I could be strong, I need…
I need my big brother.
Before starting my bike, I give the voice command through the Bluetooth in my helmet to place the call.
It rings through until I get the message that the voicemail has not been set up yet.
Considering I set up his voicemail three months ago, this tells me he broke another phone and didn’t want to tell me about it.
Instead of giving up, I call again. And again.
On the third attempt, he finally answers.
“Baby Bear, I just got off a double and Steve’s been riding my ass hard.”
While I feel bad for interrupting his sleep, I have no one else to turn to that would understand.
Some of my friends had shitty parents, but they don’t understand the pain of wondering why they weren’t wanted enough to keep.
They don’t understand not knowing who they came from. They can’t understand it.
“Jackie,” I barely get out, my voice cracking on the name I haven’t used since he was a teenager. “I don’t know what to do.”