I could feel his gaze on my back as I let myself into my apartment and locked the door behind me. Light flooded the small space, and I blinked until my eyes adjusted. Inside the front door, immediately to the left, a bar separated the kitchen from the entryway. Two upholstered stools were tucked under the bar so it could serve as a dining area if I ever decided to get fancy, but I mostly ate sitting on the overstuffed sofa that took up the majority of my crackerjack box of a living room. Beyond the living room, a sliding glass door led to a balcony that was barely big enough for two lawn chairs and a small plastic end table. The balcony overlooked the parking lot and the field beyond. Sometimes I drank my morning coffee out there while watching the sunrise over the city.
To the right of the living room, down an absurdly narrow hallway that had been a pain to fit my queen-sized bed through, my room was on the left, and the bathroom on the right. My entire living space was only a couple hundred square feet, but it was clean, organized, and comfortable, decorated in earthy tones with plenty of overstuffed pillows and gauzy drapes to add warmth and make it feel inviting. Last week, I’d sprung for a live Christmas tree and although it was only about three feet tall, and currently perched on my coffee table, it made my entire apartment smell like pine.
And, my apartment was efficient. In less than ten steps, I was able to turn on the kitchen light, hang up my coat and umbrella in the entryway closet, and plug in the Christmas tree lights. I sighed heavily, feeling the stressful day dance away to the tune of two-hundred twinkling lights and a handful of glass ornaments. Feeling much better and more at peace, I headed into my kitchen and started dinner.
Spaghetti was on tonight’s menu. Not the homemade kind that Beth made. Simmering sauce for hours when I honestly couldn’t tell the difference seemed like a gross waste of time. My immature palate was no doubt a product of my poor upbringing, but Beth was teaching me to cook, and my jar sauce was light years ahead of the frozen meals I’d grown up eating. Tonight, I was even getting fancy by adding ground sausage and mushrooms.
I had the sauce simmering, the noodles boiling, and was just about to put the garlic bread in the oven when my phone rang. Hoping it wasn’t Ben calling to cancel on me, like he was notorious for lately, I checked the screen. It was Janet, my friend from Child Protective Services. CPS usually assigned case workers to cases and not schools, but Janet and I worked well together and had common goals, so she always requested my cases when they came in. And Janet had been with CPS so long she had seniority and usually got what she asked for.
“Hi, Mercy, how are you?”
Trapping my phone between my shoulder and ear, I opened the oven and put the bread in. “Good. Today was a bit eventful, as I’m sure you’ve heard. Did you get my voicemail?” Then, I gave myself a good smack on the forehead. I sucked at small talk, but thankfully Janet knew that and liked me anyway. “I mean… how was your day? Do you have any plans for the weekend?”
She laughed. “Busy, and I’m hoping to rest this weekend. Especially since I was able to find a nice foster family to take in Toby.”
I knew Janet couldn’t give me specifics, so I never asked. “Thank you so much for letting me know. He’s a sweet kid. He doesn’t deserve this nonsense.”
“Few of them do, Mercy.”
Even though she couldn’t see me, I nodded. “Were you able to get a hold of Sheila?”
“No. The officer who went to check on her and let her know we have Toby said nobody was home.”
That was worrisome, but at least Toby would have a family until it all got sorted. “Thank you. For everything. I seriously don’t know what these kids would do without you.”
“I was going to tell you the same thing. I know it’s not always easy to call us, but you made the right call, Mercy. You know I can’t get into Toby’s evaluation, but I’m not going to give this one up easily.”
My chest squeezed as my mind spun, wondering what sort of messed up crap Toby had been subjected to. At least Janet would be keeping an eye on him from here on out. “Thanks again.”
“Of course. Please give Sheila my number if you hear from her.”
I promised to do so, and we said our goodbyes. Before I even set my phone down, it was ringing again. Opening the oven to check on the bread, I answered.
“Hey Mercy.”
“Hey Ben.” My voice was heavy with disappointment, but I didn’t have the strength or the desire to try to hide it. “You better not be calling to cancel on me again.”
My egg timer dinged. The bread was done, so I pulled it out and stuck the baking sheet on a hot pad before turning off the burner under the noodles and hunting through my cupboard for the strainer.
“Sorry, sis, but something came up.”
I put him on speaker phone and set my phone on the counter, so I could drain the noodles. “Something always comes up. I haven’t even seen you in three weeks, Ben. What’s with you lately?”
Bentley used to be reliable. We had different mothers, but we’d always been close, despite the five years that separated us. His mom, Alyssa, was an even bigger deadbeat than mine and had started dabbling in drugs toward the end of Ben’s middle school years. I found out and nagged our dad until he pulled his head out of his ass and got involved, suing Ben’s mom for custody. Ben lived with Dad until Dad’s penis overruled his brain and went on the hunt for yet another wife. Ben moved in with me to finish high school, but he moved out on his own shortly after graduation, six months ago, and I’d rarely seen him since.
“I’m busy working, living the dream, you know how it goes.”
“Working?” I asked, not buying his excuse for a second. “At six forty-five on a Friday night? What the hell kind of work are you doing, Ben?”
“The kind that pays the bills. We’ll catch up later, okay?”
No. I was not okay with any of this. Ben never lied to me. Our parents lied to us so much we’d promised long ago to always be honest with each other. So, instead of lies, he fed me vague answers and skirted around the truth when he knew I wouldn’t approve. He didn’t want to disappoint me, but not telling me where he was working wasn’t disappointing; it was terrifying. My gut told me that my little brother was into something dangerous or illegal, or both, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Bentley was eighteen now, and nagging or pressuring him would only push him away. Swallowing back all the warnings and wisdom I wanted to bestow upon him, I cradled my head in my hands and said the one thing I could.
“I miss you, Ben.”
“I miss you too, sis. We’ll get together soon, but I gotta go now. Love you.”
I huffed out a disappointed breath, frowning at the pot of spaghetti that would be way too much for me. I’d be eating pasta for days. “Love you, too. Be safe.”
He hung up and I finished dinner. I had a ton of food, but suddenly no appetite. Determined to eat anyway—I mean, dammit, I worked hard on this meal, so someone should enjoy it—I dished myself up a bowl and carried it into the living room. The lights on my tree were still twinkling, but I didn’t have much Christmas spirit anymore, so I unplugged it and set it on the floor.
Realizing I’d forgotten to invite Ben to Beth’s for Christmas dinner, I sent him a quick text before turning on the television. Surfing channels while I ate, my cozy little apartment suddenly felt entirely too quiet and lonely.
I should have just had dinner at Beth’s.
There was only one problem with that thought: Landon, the asshole. The handsome, gentleman asshole who looked positively delicious in his Army uniform.
I clicked through reality shows, sitcoms, dramas, and action shows, but nothing drew my interest. Bored and suddenly all too aware of my terminal single and alone status, I finished eating and pulled my laptop out of my bag. No use dwelling, especially not when I had plenty of work to keep me busy.
