“Whatever,” Charlie said and let the principal lead him to math class.
Ben watched him go for far too long.They still hadn’t talked about what had happened with the family, and in the absence of facts, Ben’s imagination filled in the gaps.Just because Ben’s siblings were bigots didn’t mean they were ignorant.They must have seen the signs of nonconformity and tried to suppress them, ending in Charlie’s desperate bid for freedom in the form of a haircut.It was the uneven edges of the cut that worried Ben, reminiscent more of a knife than of scissors, along with Charlie’s curt statement about hurting someone.On the one hand, Ben was glad Charlie had cut his hair and not other things.On the other, he knew from his own childhood how the matriarchs in their family utilized children in the household.The more sinful they thought the child, the more they felt the need to keep them occupied.
Ben got very good at keeping a clean house.It didn’t help with his own declining sense of self-worth, nor with the buildup of emotions he had to let out somehow.He found release through ill-advised sexual encounters and bad writing.In Charlie’s case, it could get worse if he didn’t get someone professional to talk to who knew their shit.
The school bell rang, and Ben cursed.He was late to meet with Phil’s lawyer.
He reached her office twenty minutes after the scheduled time and was immediately bombarded with yet more paperwork.Applying for guardianship meant even more forms, many of them asking for information Ben simply couldn’t provide.He didn’t have a long-term position, not under his legal name anyway, and he also didn’t have a permanent residence.Phil’s lawyer, a sharply dressed woman who insisted he call her Marisa, admirably walked him through the entire process, but she couldn’t make it less overwhelming.She suggested he enter Phil’s address as his own even though he had no proof he lived there and didn’t intend to stay.Did it count as lying to the courts if it was only true for now?
Marisa also couldn’t stop the summons going out to Charlie’s parents.
He assumed they wouldn’t protest, or Charlie wouldn’t be here, but he hadn’t seen any of his siblings since he’d left Utah.He’d never asked them for anything before.
Unbidden, he remembered Phil’s serious face in the kitchen.He’d chosen to let Ben stay with him, let Charlie stay with him, because he believed kindness was the most important thing he could offer.Ben’s family would never have done the same.
Ben pushed the thoughts aside and got back to the forms.With any luck, they could get the application sorted by Christmas.It would be good for Charlie if Ben could keep this phase of insecurity brief.
Which meant Ben had a responsibility to remedy the other sources of insecurity, such as where they’d live and how to turn a gig-based, transient job into something secure.
Time to start sending out résumés.The Bay Area boasted dozens of newspapers and magazines; someone must need a staff reporter.Maybe it would even be on a topic Ben didn’t hate.Unlikely in this economy, but possible.So long as he didn’t get stuck doing society gossip, Ben would be fine.Four years of a job he didn’t love in return for Charlie getting an education and having a stable home seemed like a more than fair trade.For that, Ben would happily sacrifice moving around, following stories.He just hoped he could nab a beat he actually knew something about.
Practice wasn’t till the afternoon, so Ben drove to the rink in Palo Alto and spent some time at his desk, establishing a timeline of Trout’s meetings with the team owner, Maxwell Van Giesing, and betsfishfordinnerhad made at similar times.It matched up decently well—usually a bet followed a meeting within forty-eight hours—but it was all circumstantial.With a sigh, Ben closed out of the document after saving it to a thumb drive and sending it to himself via email just to be safe.Once he’d finished, he noticed an unopened email in his inbox, a response from Pulvermacher about the screenshots Ben had sent while picking up Charlie.The message contained only two words: “Not enough.”
At quarter past two, he realized no one had come to bother him in the last hour.Practice had been scheduled to start half an hour ago.
But when he wandered down the hallways, he found an empty rink, except for the custodians riding Zambonis over the ice.That was odd.There hadn’t been any events yesterday, and they didn’t need to clean the ice before practice, only after.
“Where were you this morning?”Vernon Edwards asked.He was the offensive coach, a decently nice guy who had actually gotten a degree in sports education at some point.He was also a total pushover, which made him a perfect foil for someone like Trout.
“This morning?”Ben asked.
“For morning skate?Were you sick?Are you sick?”He took a big step back.“I cannot afford to get sick.”
Ben blinked.He checked his watch, then realized it told the time and not the date, so he checked his phone.
Fuck.
It was Thursday, not Wednesday.
Today was a game day, and practice had been this morning, not in the afternoon like yesterday.
“Shit,” he muttered.“I’m sorry.I’ll be there later.”
He checked his phone as he returned to his office.He’d put it on loud after he left the school in case Charlie needed him, but he hadn’t bothered to check his messages.He had several from Edwards, Tom Crowler, even from Trout.Shit.
Interestingly, Trout had written,Want me to cover for you?
The phone pinged again, this time a message from Charlie.
Are you picking me up, or do I take the bus?
Shit.What time did school end?Three?Three thirty?No matter what, it would be at least forty minutes to drive from Palo Alto to Charlie’s school in Cole Valley.Ben grabbed all his shit and power walked to the garage.He shot off a message to Charlie to tell him he was on his way, knowing he would be late.Day one of guardianship, and Ben had failed the first test.
Traffic was a bitch, of course.No one should drive in San Francisco.The hills were as close as nature got to telling off idiots in motor vehicles.When he pulled up in the lot, he found Charlie sitting on the curb, scrolling around on his phone.
“Sorry,” Ben said as Charlie threw his backpack into the back seat and slumped into the front.“Lost track of time.”Lost track of the day as well, not that he would be admitting to it.
Charlie shrugged.
