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!”
I blinked in the face of his anger as my heart stuttered in my chest.
I thought this was my scene, my struggle, my fight and Mitch was along for the ride. What I realized in that moment, staring in the face of his fury was that I was not in control of this situation and there was no way I was going to gain control. No way at all.
That was why I whispered, “Okay, Mitch.”
He flipped his phone open with sharp, angry movements, holding his entire body tense while he did it like if he didn’t he wouldn’t be responsible for what his body would do.
Then he hit some buttons as Bill said on a wince, “Dude, keep it down. What the fuck?”
“Shut your mouth,” Mitch ground out, eyes to his phone, face hard.
Bill looked to me. “Who’s this fuckin’ guy and what’s his fuckin’ problem?”
“Right now, I’m your problem, assclown,” Mitch bit off, his eyes cutting to Bill.
I glanced at Billy and Billie. Billie was staring wide-eyed at the proceedings. Billy was fighting back a grin.
Oh boy.
Maybe I should try to gain control of the situation.
“Mitch,” I said, sidling closer to him, “maybe you should –”
I didn’t finish again because his eyes cut to me again and he asked on a dangerous whisper, “What’d I tell you to do?”
I stared up at him frozen to the spot. Okay, that answered that. Mitch was in charge.
I nodded and turned to the kids. “All right guys. Let’s go get your stuff.” I moved to them. “Come on, let’s go.”
Billy grinned at me then tugged his sister’s hand and they moved down the hall. They shared a room which was okay for now considering their ages but it was just okay. Billy was getting old enough he needed his own space and it wouldn’t be long before it was borderline inappropriate for a brother and sister to share a room.
I wondered what the rent on the three-bedroom townhouses at the complex was as I searched for some kind of luggage or bags. Though I knew this would be fruitless as I knew there were none and I was right. They didn’t even have garbage bags, something I discovered upon tidying one of the million times I tidied. I always meant to remember to buy some and, being me and being a dork, I always forgot.