I reached out a hand to turn it off and rolled carefully.
Billie was dead asleep next to me, sprawled out on my bed, the fingers of her right hand clutching a new, little, fluffy pink teddy bear. She was sprawled yet she was so small she didn’t take up much of the bed. And she was also apparently oblivious to alarm clocks.
I moved into her, kissed her forehead then exited the bed and went to my bathroom, yesterday evening playing out in my head.
Suffice it to say things at Bill’s did not go well. In fact, they went worse than I could have imagined because things at Bill’s were worse than I ever imagined.
This was not because I lost it or Bill lost it when I shared with him that I intended to get custody of his kids. Though he did lose it but not because I told him I intended to take his kids from him.
This was because Mitch lost it. I knew I didn’t want him to know about Bill, Billy and Billie and how all that reflected on me and him losing it only proved I was very, very right.
Even so, this had been surprising. I didn’t know Mitch very well but I’d seen him get angry. I’d heard him get angry. And he could be a jerk when he was angry.
Then again, I didn’t know just how bad things were at Bill’s.
And they were bad.
You see when we walked into Bill’s, he was on the couch and he was high as a kite. His eyes were glassy, his body limp and his limbs not in his control. There was an open bottle of half-drunk vodka next to some drug paraphernalia on the dirty, cluttered coffee table in front of him.
I stared at my cousin, frozen in shock. I’d never seen him like this. I’d seen him drunk, of course. I’d even seen him drunk around his kids, though infrequently. I’d also seen him high, back in the day, and guessed he still partook but my guess was he partook of weed. Not what would necessitate him having the kind of drug paraphernalia he had right then. I’d never seen him high like this and definitely not high around his kids
He didn’t hide his liquor from me or his kids which was something I didn’t like. I knew how weird and uncomfortable it was seeing a parent drink all the time, drink until they were fall down, crazy, stupid and sometimes mean drunk. And I didn’t want that for Billy and Billie. But it wasn’t illegal and to my knowledge it didn’t happen very often.
I’d never seen the drug paraphernalia. Not ever.
Seeing Bill sitting on his couch getting stoned, not worrying that his kids were gone and not out searching high and low for them but instead getting drunk and high pissed me off to no end.
Also, I’d tidied their house that week, twice, and it looked like it hadn’t been picked up or cleaned in the last decade. How it could go from relatively clean and tidy to a disaster in a few days was beyond me but it did. The proof was spread out before me.
But I couldn’t think about any of this. I had to think of the kids who I didn’t want to see this. So I turned to them saying, “Kids, go to your room.”
To this Billy, his eyes on his Dad, his lips in a mini-nine year old kid sneer, replied, “This is no big deal. We’ve seen this before, Auntie Mara. We see it like, all the time.”
I froze again for half a second at learning this knowledge before my eyes moved to Billie to see she didn’t seem overly perturbed by the state of her Dad. Although she was standing very close to her brother in a way that it appeared she was seeking some sort of protection. The only hint she gave that she was uncomfortable was her ankle twisted to the side and her little girl hand was clenched in her brother’s. I turned back to my cousin and on my turn I saw that Mitch was examining Billy and Billie and his jaw was rock hard.
Then Mitch, too, turned back to Bill and growled in a voice that sent a chill up my spine, “Your kids are gone, you got no food in the house but you can get your hands on smack and vodka?”
Bill blinked up at Mitch then blinked at me then grinned a wonky (not adorable) grin and slurred, “Hey, beautiful Mara.”
“Bill –” I started but Mitch interrupted me.
“Get their shit,” he ordered tersely, my head whipped to him and that was when I noticed he was losing it. He was holding on but only by a thread. I knew this because it wasn’t only his jaw that was rock hard, his entire face was.
“Pardon?” I whispered cautiously.
He was digging into his back jeans pocket but his eyes never left Bill when he said to me, “Get their shit.”
“Mitch –” I began and his gaze sliced to me.
“Get their shit,” he snarled. “All of it.”
He then pulled out his phone and I thought maybe I should make an effort to tame the suddenly savage beast.
“Maybe while I talk with Bill, you could help them –” I started to suggest and Mitch leaned into me and I stopped speaking because at that moment the thread on his control snapped and he roared, “Mara, get their shit!”