The Only One I Trust

He debated running when he saw her. His stomach urged him to flee, but the mental image of him slipping in his brand new dress shoes and cracking his skull on the tile floor stopped him. That was all he needed, to go into the ICU on the day of the hearing. 

Kathryn waved him down from the end of the busy courthouse hallway. She hadn’t changed much in the last decade. He wondered often if she had come out of the womb in a sensible pair of orthopedic loafers and a gray knee length skirt, the social worker uniform. She was still wearing her “everything will be okay” smile when he approached, hands in his jacket pockets. He leaned in to let her hug him. 

“Good, good, you wore the suit,” she chirped. “That’s a nice suit! You definitely look like a responsible potential guardian.” Her voice was high, thready, nervous. His stomach flipped again.

 “... It’s the same suit, Kathryn,” he said quietly. He hadn’t washed it since his grandmother’s funeral a month ago. He could still smell the cologne he had worn.

Her smile vanished. “Right. Sorry, Jack, I was just trying --”

He shrugged her apology off. His brief, spiteful satisfaction at her embarrassment was quickly soured by the pity in her eyes. “It’s fine. Rae says hi,” he sighed, staring at the heavy wooden door across the hall. “That where we gonna go?”

“Yup.”

He stared at her shoes. “Thanks for coming today. I know you didn’t have to.” 

He wasn’t her problem anymore, after all. He was eighteen now, and according to the state, didn’t need her anymore. He was an adult, and shouldn’t need anyone.

--

The first time he and sister had met Kathryn was the night Heather --or Mom, as they called her then-- went to jail. He had been playing video games in the living room of their apartment while a four year old Rae fed her leftover cereal dinner to their cat. It took the police officer ten minutes to convince Jack to open the door. The rest of the evening was a series of shadowy memories:  flashing lights, a squad car, the noisy police station, the handcuffed man who had vomited down his shirt, Rae’s full throated wail as a female officer tried to hold her on her lap. 

Hours later, they found themselves in the backseat of Kathryn’s dirty Corolla. Rae was asleep. Her tiny body had finally shut down. Jack, on the other hand, had only grown more angry and wired as the night went on. He vibrated against the restraint of his seatbelt, skin hot, fists clenched against his thighs, dirty fingernails leaving indents in his palms. 

“WHERE THE HELL ARE WE GOING?” he snarled, hoping to sound as scary as possible. Rae didn’t move; she had learned to sleep through noise.

Kathryn didn’t flinch. She gave him a brief smile in the rearview mirror. He reminded her of his teacher, with her neat hair and crinkly eyes. “We’re going to go see your grandmother,” she told him. “Her name is Helene.”

“WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?”

--

Jack fussed with his necktie, trying not to screw up the knot that had taken him six replays of a video tutorial to figure out. Beads of sweat slid down his collar. “It’s fucking hot in here. We just gotta wait here until they call me?”

“Yeah.” Kathryn mopped at her brow with a tissue. “It’s usually not so bad. Central air broke yesterday.”

“Of course it did. This place is a piece of shit.” The stupid tie was choking him. He wanted to take it off. Could he look like a responsible adult without it? Was he sure he even wanted to? Heat prickled down his spine. “How fucking long is this going to be?” 

“What did I tell you about your attitude? And language?”

Jack scanned the crowded hall to avoid her stare. “So talking like a pastor is going to get the judge to let me keep Rae home with me?”

“Talking like a delinquent won’t help,” she said quietly, before her demeanor shifted and she grinned and waved at a passing police officer. “Dante!”

Jack’s jaw clenched as he recognized the officer. He looked the same as he had a year ago: crazy tall, dark skin, white, white teeth. The only difference was the little bit of gray by his temples. Kathryn and he exchanged pleasantries until the cop noticed him pressed against the wall.

“Hey! I know you. Jack, right? Helene Martineau’s grandson?”

Jack nodded. Sweat pooled in the small of his back.

“Yeah! I remember now,” Dante said, and reached out to put his bear paw on Jack’s shoulder. “Tell her I said hello. Your gramma’s a good lady.”

Jack swallowed at the sudden lump in his throat. “Yup, I will.”

--

The last time Officer Dante Shepherd had put his calloused hand on Jack’s shoulder, it trapped him like a vise and dragged him all the way to his own front door. 

“Stop squirming, or I’ll fuckin’ cuff you, and she can see you looking like a real criminal,” he growled.

“Fuck you.” 

Shepherd was nonplussed and rang the bell again. “What the fuck were you thinkin’? You know that guy has a gun, right? And you and your pals were just going to vandalize his house?” Jack continued to try and squirm from under Dante’s grip.

Gran answered the door on the third ring. She blinked up at the officer with a scowl. “I’m here, I’m here --- Jack? Now what?” 

Shepherd shifted his grip to the back of Jack’s neck, forcing the boy to face the old woman. “Mrs. Martineau, sorry to bother you, but your boy here was trying to be Banksy with his dumbass friends….again...this time across the side of Tommy Hutchinson’s house.” He gave Jack a gentle shove into the house. “We got to them before any damage was done, so this is a warning.”

When the cop was gone, Gran followed him all the way to his bedroom, screaming rhetorical questions until he slammed the door in her face. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he keep making the same stupid choices over and over, again? Didn’t he know he had to grow up? Wasn’t he supposed to be getting a job? Didn’t he know his friends were useless? Didn’t he understand soon he wouldn’t be a minor, he would just go to jail? The last question hurt the most: did he want to end up just like his mother? 

Later that evening, Rae brought him dinner. He sat on the floor with his back against his bed, plate balanced on his knee. She sat on the bed above him, skinny legs folded under her, occasionally bending over to swipe food off his plate. “So you were just going to write ‘Douchebag’ across the garage?” she mumbled around a mouthful of potato wedge. “That’s stupid. Even if Tommy totally is a douchebag.”

“THANK YOU!” Jack cried, grinning up at her. “Right? Such a douchebag.”

Rae nodded, eyes bright. “Right.” Their smiles didn’t match; Rae’s was sweet, subdued, and his was wolfish, full of teeth. “Did you tell the cop Tommy sells Oxy to middle schoolers?”

“Fuck no. I’m not a rat.” The silence stretched. Jack could feel Rae trying to gather words, but since he had no hope of knowing what to say, he left her to it. She was better at talking than he was.

“Gran is mad at you,” she said finally, as she picked a loose thread in her leggings.

“Yeah, well, she’s always mad at me.”

“Not always.” Her voice was almost inaudible over the speakers of their shared laptop. A playlist of various car-related videos was going in the background. She eyed the screen before looking down at Jack with a slight frown. “Just when you do dumb shit.”

He hated when she looked at him that way, big green eyes all sad and shiny. He held her gaze to punish himself. “I can’t wait to get out of this fucking town.”

“You have to finish high school,” Rae pointed out, reaching for another potato.  “You can’t leave.”

Jack held his plate up to make it easier for her. “Yeah, well, watch me. I’ll get my GED and get a job. I’ll get an apartment in the city. Then you can come visit me when you’re tired of all the rules and bullshit. Don’t worry, you can have the best end of the sofa when you visit.” He searched her face for a reaction, and pressed on when she gave him nothing. “Once I’m eighteen -- I’m gone. I gotta get out of this town. Everyone knows all our shit.” 

Rae stayed quiet, plucking at the thread on her calf. He wished she would point out that he didn’t help matters by giving everyone so much to talk about, but she didn’t, and he didn’t know if he was grateful or angry because of it. She never blamed him for anything, and was always there to comfort him, even when he was a total asshole.

--

The memory was one of dozens. Like the time he was supposed to help Gran with the cabinets, but instead he went out with friends, so she tried to do it alone and ended up spraining her wrist. Or the time he was supposed to pick Rae up from some after school bullshit, but he’d gotten drunk, and she needed to get a ride home with the mom of the nasty freckled girl who bullied her. Rae had spent the whole night crying in her room. He really was an asshole. Assholes didn’t get custody of their little siblings, no matter what their dead grandmother said she wanted. They didn’t deserve to. 

“I need to get some air,” Jack croaked, and launched himself toward the sunlit exit doors. He ignored Kathryn’s calls and clawed at his tie again, desperate for a deep breath he couldn’t seem to get in. 

The sun outside was blinding; it was starting to set and hung like a spotlight above the horizon, shining directly on the courthouse steps. He ducked behind a pillar and sagged against it. He regretted talking Rae into going to school today. He had thought that the potential bad news should come directly from him later, but now he didn't know if he had the stomach to deliver the possible message. Was he really going to be able to tell his baby sister that she had to go live with strangers? Would he be able to explain Gran’s wishes didn’t matter, because a judge had decided an unemployed kid who graduated with a 2.5 GPA wasn’t an appropriate guardian for a fourteen year old? How could Jack deliver this news and be sure that the barest trace of relief wouldn’t be in his eyes when he said it? 

He was sure of two things. One, the judge wouldn’t be wrong, no matter what the decision about Rae was. Two, he did not want to be alone in that house, full of ghosts and memories of his own mistakes. He didn’t know anything about anything. He didn’t know how to take care of a child. He didn’t know how to take care of himself. He didn’t know what he wanted the damn judge to say.

--

Yesterday, Kathryn had called him to go over the details of the hearing. She summarized the promises she had made on Jack’s behalf to the court: he would get a full time job, he and Rae would attend the grief counseling sessions they’d set up for the both of them, he would remain in constant contact with her as well as Rae’s school counselor: a pale, sticky looking woman whose name Jack couldn’t remember. Somewhere in the middle of their conversation, his brain had shut off. The migraine that had settled behind his eyes since the day they met with Gran’s lawyer and went through her last will and testament had doubled in the last week.

“Jack? Hello?”

“Hmm?” He sat up a little straighter at his empty kitchen table, eyes drifting down the hallway toward Rae’s closed bedroom door. She had just gotten home from school and was already doing her homework, because she was a nerd. 

“I said -- did you hear back from the electronics store you applied to?”

“Oh. No.” He wiped at a smudge on the table top with this finger. “Nothing yet.”

“Well, maybe call them and inquire,” she suggested. 

“Hey, Kathryn. Are the foster people who take in teenage kids all fucking weirdos?”

There was a pause on the line, and then Kathryn spoke in her usual chipper tone. “I thought the point of us having this hearing and submitting all this paperwork was to prevent Rae from going into a foster home.”

“No, I know, I’m just wondering if like, maybe they’re not always terrible? What if they were rich and wanted a little girl to spoil and get dance lessons and shit for? Rae likes to dance.”

“Jack, I think--”

He hunched over the table and lowered his voice to a rasp. “Or what if they had connections and they could actually get her into acting, instead of just doing these school plays and shit. Like, could we make sure she goes to a family that can actually do some good shit for her, I mean--”

“--Jack, what’s going on?” 

His leg bounced wildly beneath the table. “I don’t think I can do this,” he said finally, the words falling out of him in a single wet breath. “I’m going to fuck her up even more, which I didn’t think was possible, but I’m sure I can find a way to do it--”

“--Hey--”

“--I don’t know how to cheer her up like Gran does -- did. I don’t know how to deal with girl problems or cook and --”

“HEY.” 

The sudden bite in Kathryn’s voice made him choke on his last word. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“Stop it. Breathe. The last time we spoke you were adamant Rae couldn’t go anywhere. Why are you talking about foster parents and dance lessons?”

“What if I fuck up? Then they’ll take her away and I won’t even get to see her.”

Kathryn breathed into the phone. “Can I ask you something? Your grandmother couldn’t get Rae dance lessons. Why do you think she was a good caretaker for your sister?”

“I don’t know. She was just here, I guess. She stuck around when Heather didn’t.”

“So have you. You’re here. You have always been here. Your sister just lost her grandmother. If you don’t fight this, she’ll lose her brother, too.”

--

The sun slipped behind the convenience store across the street, helping to ease the throbbing in Jack’s skull. He was about to slip back inside the courthouse when the doors burst open to release a woman dragging a wailing toddler behind her. A willowy teenage girl with pink rimmed eyes followed the two of them. She glanced at Jack from under her bangs and then shuffled down the steps, in as much of a hurry as her mother. Jack watched the curly haired baby scream and reach back for her older sister, launching her tiny body against her mother’s shoulders over and over until finally, tired and frustrated, the woman literally tossed the kid into the waiting teen’s grasp. The older girl wrapped her scrawny arms around her little sister and whispered in her ear. The baby instantly quieted. Jack wondered what she said to make the toddler feel better instantly. He wished he had heard it. 

--

The last time Rae had cried in front of him -- before the funeral -- was over a boy. Not even a worthwhile boy:  Kyle Murphy, an oily faced sophmore with a stupid haircut and ratty denim shorts who had somehow tricked Rae into finding him worth her attention. Then, after she’d done God knows what with him, he dumped her for a fellow sophomore whose chest had come in. Jack perched on the arm of the sofa while Rae sobbed, facedown, into the seat cushion. He tried offering her solutions. Did he want her to beat Kyle up? He would beat him up. Did he want her to get his friend Hector’s little brother to steal Kyle’s new girlfriend? 

“Seriously, whatever it is, I’ll do it,” he said.

She rolled onto her back and sniffled, staring up at him. She was upside down, her hair spread out in a dark halo around her. He waggled his eyebrows cartoonishly. This worked like a charm: she grinned and rubbed at her running mascara. “You can’t beat him up. He’s only a sophomore and you’re seventeen.”

“That a challenge?”

Rae choked out a giggle, then sat up and edged closer to put her temple against his knee. “Thanks. You’re literally the only good guy out there. You’re the only person I trust.”

--

If he didn’t fight for this, she would never trust him again. He would not let her down. He would not be like everyone else in their lives. Even Gran, who had left them without warning. 

He managed one full gulp of air before plunging back into the courthouse’s stifling lobby. By the time he got back to Kathryn, he was fighting his tie back into place.

“Are you alright? Where did you go?” she asked, eyeing him waringly.

“I’m fine. I just...needed a second,” Jack replied. He squared his shoulders and faced her. “I’m good now. Tie straight?”

“You’re fine,” she replied, her smile genuine. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the heavy wooden door opened, and a short man in a beige uniform leaned out.

“Is there a Martineau here?”

Jack sucked in a thin breath and raised his eyebrows. “That’s me.”