Actually (2 page)

Two days later, Ian sat at his desk. Mike Hedlund hadn’t come to school. Flipping open the attendance roster, Ian ran his finger across the page as he counted the missed days. They’d only been in session for two months. Mike had missed eight classes without an excuse. Ian suspected that some of the excused absences were bogus. One more unexcused this semester, and Mike would be looking at makeup hours after school or summer school, at the end of the year.

Down at the office, he pulled Mike’s files and flipped through to the new contact information submitted after the death of his parents. He called the home number and gotten voicemail more times than he could count. Scanning the rest of the information for a cell phone number he knew wasn’t there, he opted for a work address.

He’d never thought of Aaron as being dismissive. Maybe he’d changed over the years since his graduation. Or maybe the death of his parents had made him apathetic about Mike. Whatever the case, it was time to have this discussion and if it needed to be in person, so be it. Mike needed help.

Ian remembered Aaron perfectly. From his dark wavy hair and pale brown eyes with a ring of gold around the pupil, to the mischievous, ever-present grin, Aaron was unforgettable.
Aaron made people comfortable, made them want to be around him. That had included Ian, but spending time with a student as you would a friend was not a line to be crossed. Not while keeping your job. He liked the kid. He felt a kinship to him that had could have extended past Aaron’s high school years, although he didn’t think Aaron knew it.
Beyond that, he didn’t dare develop his thoughts down the path they wanted to take.
What had actually happened was that Aaron had gone on to college and then to law school. Meanwhile, Mike had grown up, and Ian had taken special interest in the kid who reminded him so much of his older brother. The family, always involved with the school, had been warm and engaging.
But distance hadn’t kept Ian from wondering what kind of friends he and Aaron could have been. He’d always liked the laid-back kid with the knock-out smile.
He folded the paper and tucked it into his back pocket. His heart kicked up. He no longer had school regulations to guide him. It left him at a nebulous crossroads of how friendly was too friendly to be to someone he used to teach and what was appropriate concern when talking about a younger sibling he
still
taught.
He blew out a breath with a cross between sick dread and excitement. He had to go meet the man. For Mike. Six minutes later, he pulled up in front of Casey’s Gift Shop and Shipping on historic Main Street. The mile-long strip of shopping and restaurants was the epicenter for Milton, the closest retail center for forty miles. Casey’s was just as sleepy as the rest of the town.
The bell over the door jingled as he entered. Aaron’s dark head bent behind the counter and came up again.
“Can I help—Mr. Mitchell?” Aaron asked with surprise.
Ian’s gut tightened instinctively as those pale brown eyes leveled on him, and he was swamped with something that felt a little too close to interest. God, he’d aged well. No longer a scrawny teenager, Aaron’s lean body had filled out into the proportions of a man. Dark hair curled on his exposed forearms and his wrists were thicker, veined. His face had angled, his jaw squared and the hollows of his cheeks were dimpled in a way Ian didn’t remember.
“Hey, Aaron,” Ian finally managed, when he recovered his voice. “It’s been awhile. Good to see you, despite the circumstances of your return. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Aaron’s bemused smile faded. “Yeah.” He seemed to try to muster his good humor. “What brings you to Casey’s?”
“You. I need to talk to you about Mike.”
“No one in the store but you. We can talk now, but I’ll have to stop and help whoever comes in.”
“That’s fine, but I’d like to find a time where we can talk uninterrupted. I doubt your employers would be pleased to have you distracted on the job.”
Aaron shrugged, a mirror of his little brother’s negligent dismissal. “Casey doesn’t mind. She lets me study as long as no one’s in here. I’m pretty sure she’d accept talking.”
“You’re still in school?” Ian asked.
Aaron pulled his notebooks up from under the counter with a sly smile. “Yeah, I can’t seem to give up my dream of becoming a lawyer. They’re letting me take my core classes through their distance program. Once I specialize, I’ll have to go back.”
“When will that be?”
“Not until Mike graduates. I can’t leave him.”
Ian nodded thoughtfully. “I want to help him, but at the rate he’s going, he’ll be lucky to finish high school.”
Aaron’s brows pulled together and his gaze sharpened. “He’s failing?”
“He would be, if he’d bother to show up to class.”
The bell jingled again. They both turned passively, noting the entrance of a customer as they were ending their discussion.
“I get off work at six after clean up and restocking. I usually go to the library for a few hours, but if you meet me at home, I’ll be there.”
“Address?” Ian asked.
Aaron scrawled the address on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
“Six fifteen okay?”
Aaron nodded agreement.
“I’ll see you then.” He started to turn away, but stopped. “I tried to call you several times. Can I have your cell phone number? Put mine into your contacts so you know who’s trying to reach you.”
Aaron pulled out his phone, his thumb working quickly over the keyboard. “I’m not allowed to take personal calls on the job, but if your number comes up I’ll try to reach you on a break.”
He held out his cell. Ian took it and entered his digits, then used it to call himself and save the number that popped up.
“I won’t call unless it’s important. See you tonight.”
He felt Aaron’s eyes on him as he left. He resisted the urge for one last look. He wouldn’t be able to without showing either pity or interest. He didn’t need those emotions communicated. It wouldn’t be right and probably not appreciated.
Six fifteen. He had time for a run and a shower before heading over. Right now, he needed both to get his thoughts back in line. Helping Mike was the priority here, not whether or not he could make Aaron smile. Priorities, he reminded himself.
* * * *
Aaron was distracted as he let himself in. Mike had planted himself in front of the television set. His girlfriend straddled his lap, her shirt discarded. His little brother fumbled with her bra hooks.
“Don’t even think about it,” Aaron snapped.
“Mind your own business,” Mike countered.
Aaron walked all the way into the room. “Mom and Dad,” he said, then waited.
“Are dead. They don’t care what I do on their couch anymore.”
“Yeah, you’re right. They’re dead. I guess it’s a good thing because this,” he said, gesturing to the couple, “would break their hearts. Show some respect for them, if not for your girlfriend.”
Mike looked pissed. Aaron didn’t care. He stood, hands on hips, waiting for Mike to make the right choice. Finally, Mike pushed her off.
“You gotta go,” he mumbled.
“Why? Because your dead parents make you guilty? That’s bullshit,” she insisted.
“You don’t get to fucking talk about my parents,” Mike barked.
“Whatever. I’m out of here.” The girl grabbed a black sweater and stormed out of the house with a fiery glare and a sneer at Aaron.
Mike disappeared upstairs. It was just as well. Mr. Mitchell would be over soon and they had to talk about him. There was also dinner to make.
Aaron wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to see the things he’d bought the night before. Nothing exciting leaped out at him, but food was food. He grabbed the sandwich fixings and decided to make grilled turkey and cheese, then dug out a can of tomato soup from the cupboard. It would work.
He’d laid the supplies on the counter when a knock sounded at the front door. It took him a second to reorganize his thoughts from dinner and the scene with Mikey to the discussion he was about to have.
Everything that had happened since the crash felt surreal. Suddenly, he had to be brother, provider, and parent. That he had to meet with his own former teacher to discuss his little brother didn’t make him feel any more comfortable. It also didn’t help that the teacher in question was the man who’d starred in a few of Aaron’s personal fantasies during high school.
He opened the door and stood aside. “Come in. I’m putting dinner together. I’m not much of a cook, but you’re welcome to join us.”
“That’s okay. I can grab something later.”
“If this conversation is going to take as long as I think it might, your stomach might disagree with you on that score. It’s just soup and sandwiches. Mike will probably take his upstairs to the computer. It’ll just be me and you.” Why did that come out sounding like a modified date?
“In that case, let me help. I’m a whiz with soup,” Mr. Mitchell joked.
“Think you can manage pouring it into a pot? The tricky part is adding milk and stirring,” Aaron teased back.
Mr. Mitchell’s eyes crinkled at the corners, warming the pale blue with friendship. Aaron’s breath hitched in his chest as unexpected emotion acted like a vice on his lungs. He refused to let it take hold. He’d been functioning just fine as long as he stayed busy. As long as no one looked too closely at him. As long as no one offered to help. His eyes burned and he led the way to the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Mr. Mitchell asked.
“Fine.”
“You didn’t look fine just then.”
Aaron shrugged. “Not used to seeing a friendly face. It’s nothing.” Why did seeing one now make him want to break down? Compassion from Mr. Mitchell put him too close to the edge of his emotions. He had to lock that shit down.
A heavy hand dropped on his shoulder. “It’s not
nothing
if it matters to you. Talk to me.”
“I’d rather not,” Aaron answered. He swallowed past the lump that insisted on lodging in his throat. He blinked back the tears ready to spill. He couldn’t let go now. The pain would crush him. Mr. Mitchell would see a lot more than he’d bargained for.
Toe the line
, he told himself.
Hold it back, get a grip
.
People ask how you are. They don’t actually want to know, and you don’t really want to go there either
.

“Have you had any help at all?”
Jesus, this line of discussion had to stop. Now.
Lock it down, fast.
“Making dinner?” Aaron quipped. He handed the can of tomato soup to Mr. Mitchell

without looking at him. There was no way he wanted Mr. Mitchell aware of Aaron’s struggle to regain his composure. “The can opener is in that drawer. You’ll find the pots down and to the left of the oven door.

The kitchen grew quiet but for the sound of sliding wood and softly shutting cupboards as they pulled implements together and got to work. Aaron took a deep breath, finding his strength in the silence. He wiped the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand while Mr. Mitchell’s back was turned. He took out a frying pan and dropped in the first two sandwiches.

“My brother can eat two of these. How many do you want?” Aaron asked. “One.”
Aaron nodded.
“What happened that night?” Mr. Mitchell prompted.
Aaron thought about it for a minute. He closed his eyes against the pain, a shudder

tracking down his spine. He blinked back the itchiness of unshed tears for a second time and focused on the pan before him. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Sure.” He didn’t sound sure. He sounded patient.
“You said you needed to discuss Mikey.”
“Maybe we should do that after Mike comes down for dinner and retreats?”
More nodding. Aaron felt like his head was on a bobble, and it probably looked just as stupid. “I can’t say it’s not weird having my former teacher cooking soup in my house,” he said, looking for a neutral subject.
Mr. Mitchell gave a short chuckle. “I’d have to agree with that.”
Aaron flipped the sandwiches. Mr. Mitchell stirred soup. Their arms brushed and Aaron side-stepped to avoid contact.
Mr. Mitchell was as handsome as Aaron remembered. His blue eyes seemed to bore into Aaron making him distinctly uncomfortable. It was as though the man could see right into his soul and once he did, tried to warm Aaron with kindness. His sandy blond hair had a glint of reddish tones beneath the kitchen lights and looked just as soft as it always had. His broad shoulders were strong and sturdy, capable. The temptation to blurt out his problems and pray Mr. Mitchell had the answers was huge.
“Looks like it’s done,” Mr. Mitchell said, giving the soup another stir before turning off the gas.
Aaron dropped two more sandwiches into the pan. He took plates down, gathered a spoon and a napkin then called for Mikey.
Mike wandered in, looking bored until he saw Mr. Mitchell. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
“Guardian-teacher conference,” Mr. Mitchell answered.
“In my
kitchen
?” Mike doubted.
“Wherever I need to be to get my point across. You’re in danger of repeating your junior year,” Mr. Mitchell explained.
Mikey’s eyes shot to Aaron before he turned on his heel. “I’m out of here.”
“Stop. Take your dinner,” Aaron insisted. “You can hide out if you want, but Mr. Mitchell is trying to keep you from failing. Considering the bang-up job I’m doing as your guardian, I could use all the help I can get.”
Mike returned and reluctantly took his plate and bowl. A guilty look colored his expression. “You’re doing okay.”
It was the first positive thing Mike had said to him in weeks. “Are you kidding? I suck at this.” His chuckle sounded strangled, even to him.
Mike met his eyes for a long, watery look. “You’re all I got.”
Just as quickly, the moment was gone. Mike took off with dinner, leaving Aaron lost in his feelings.
Mr. Mitchell squeezed his shoulder. “He’s right. You’re doing a good job. You can’t expect to have it down perfectly when parenting a teenager was dropped into your lap without warning. Your parents had twenty-five years with you to get it right for him.”
He lowered his hand again. Aaron felt its loss acutely. Moments later, Mr. Mitchell set two bowls on the table.
“I flipped the sandwiches. They’re almost done,” Aaron said.
“I’ll get the drinks.”
Aaron told Mr. Mitchell where the glasses were for the milk. The domesticity felt good. It sounded like a home. Cooking had a way of doing that. The comfortable silence had returned, and the sense that things were getting back on track for the first time since the crash permeated the room. This felt right. It felt good. It felt possible. He could almost ignore that there were important people missing in this moment.
The tears he’d never shed were still too close to the surface. Mr. Mitchell’s presence acted like a balm on Aaron’s soul, coaxing emotions out of him that had been buried in order to function.
Numbly, Aaron lifted a spoon of soup to his lips. The heat felt good. It gave him another sensation besides the endless emptiness his parents had left him with.
“Tomato soup and grilled sandwiches,” Mr. Mitchell mused. “Best comfort food on the planet.”
“Mm,” Aaron answered. If the teacher knew how many times this dinner had been served in the past several months, without any comfort at all, he might not have said that.
“We’re going to need to talk about it. You can’t pretend that everything’s the same.”
Aaron lowered his spoon. “I’m
not
pretending it’s the same. Nothing about this speaks of domestic bliss, Mr. Mitchell. If you think that I’ve forgotten, for one second, that this isn’t different, then you’re blind,” he snapped.
“Tell me.”
Aaron picked up his sandwich instead.
“You can’t keep this up. It’s not helping either of you.”
Yet his emotions needed to stay buried. Mr. Mitchell wasn’t family. He was a teacher and in a few minutes, they’d discuss Mikey’s failings, and he’d be gone, leaving Aaron to pick up the pieces and fix the breaks on his own. The kitchen would grow cold again, empty. The sounds would fade into memory, and he and his brother would be left with remnants of what a house with family should be like—the reminder of what it had stopped being three months ago.
Mikey would go on dragging his feet through every day. Aaron would mechanically pay the bills, work, eat, sleep and study. Then someday, when the pain stopped being painful, the sun would come out again and warm them up all the way to the inside of their beings and wake them up. He hoped.
“Living is more than existing,” Mr. Mitchell tried again.
Existing was the best Aaron could expect. The constant fog of mundane necessity and distractible grief kept them in a daze. Maybe the sun would never come to lift it. Maybe they’d dry into husks and go their separate ways after Mike’s graduation.
He lowered his spoon, watching it sink into the bright orangey-red until just the rim of broke the surface, glinting at him beneath the velvety blanket of
comfort food
. He rocked the utensil side to side watching soup drain first from one edge, then the other and back again.
God, he couldn’t allow them to go separate ways. Mom and Dad would’ve wanted them to stay together. Of course, he told himself. That’s why he fought to pay the mortgage and keep the house. It was part of the family’s history, part of how they grew up and where.
One day, it would be the place Mike and Aaron gathered together with their families and pulled out photo albums, drank cider around a Christmas tree, and built wood fires for roasting marshmallows. It would be filled with the same CDs of classical music that Dad had loved and The Carpenters in memory of Mom’s favorite singing duo.
And Thanksgiving around the table…That’s why Aaron did what he did, holding the wisps of memory together by sheer will until the brothers fused on their own. Until they wove a family from the devastation. If only he could speed up time. If only the hard parts would happen in a blur without him so that he could just rest in the hammock of that future security without having to do the repair work.
“Okay, you don’t have to talk to me about what you’re feeling, but can we talk about Mike? I think he needs help. I think talking about it is exactly what he needs to do,” Mr. Mitchell said gently.
“Maybe we’re still processing it. Maybe we need more time.”
“That’s fine. You need time. But the world didn’t stop so you could take that time. It’s still coming at you with both barrels, and that can be overwhelming. There’s nothing wrong in asking for help.”
He put his spoon down and pulled apart his sandwich. The cheese strung out between the halves like edible glue.
Dad would have provided the glue they needed to stay together, and Mom would have fit the pieces in the gap like a well-loved puzzle. They’d have fixed this with smiles and laughter and hugs. The house would have been filled with light and smells of hot meals prepared nightly, of clanking dishes and running water, of phone calls and good-natured jibes about girlfriends and lawyers being more terrifying to man than great white sharks.
But they weren’t here. Mr. Mitchell was, and it only accentuated the gap between usedto-be and is-now.
His former history teacher’s spoon hovered over the bowl as he sent Aaron a concerned look, filled with unspoken questions.
What if Mr. Mitchell couldn’t help them? What if he tried, but failed? Where would that leave Mike and Aaron then?
Things had to be timed, secured, before he took that leap. Just seeing Mr. Mitchell after all these years didn’t provide that security. Aaron couldn’t be lured in by the expression in his gorgeous blue eyes. It could be deep and true, or it could be shallow, leaving Aaron to flail. Then what?
“Trust takes time. The last time I saw you, I was turning in my written exam and saying goodbye. You might as well be a stranger.”
“I knew your family after you left, too. And I’ve been teaching your brother. That gives me some credibility doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t. It makes you a guy with a fondness for my little brother, who’s caught between his job to care and probably a human desire to run far away.”
“Are you kidding? If you are, it’s not funny,” Mr. Mitchell told him with a measure of disbelief. “If I wanted to run, I’m well within my rights to simply report his absences and never make a personal visit. But I think we can establish that I’m doing my best to get your attention.”
“So is that, like, a brownie point thing?” Aaron bit out.
“Oh, my God. I’m trying to help. Where in the rule book of human decency does it say that grief gives you permission to be a complete ass?”
“You could leave.”
Mr. Mitchell seemed to struggle for a moment as he bit back what were apparently some choice words. Finally, he exhaled. “I’m going to assume that you’ll feel like a shit for that, later. Pushing people away who get a little too close to the truth is something I did when my dad died. We had a lot of unfinished business. I didn’t take kindly to people intruding on it when I couldn’t finish the argument he and I started before he was suddenly gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Accepted,” Mr. Mitchell acknowledged. “I’m here to help. I
want
to help. I’ll pull my job specs if you want. It’s not in the description that I care for my students. And to be honest, I don’t give a shit about what half of them do. I care about Mike. I care about you. Your family is one of those milestones in my teaching career. I’m not going away easily.”
“I see that.” Aaron swirled the spoon in his soup. It had long since grown cold, but that wasn’t the point. It was the act of eating that was important even if the food tasted like cardboard.
“Start with the facts.”
Despite Aaron’s intentions, the words climbed up his throat to be spoken.
“Mikey called me from the hospital. I was at law school celebrating the beginning of my second year and kissing my best friend in a darkened parking lot. I was going to ignore it— normally, I would have—but I took the call,” Aaron began roughly.
His eyes blurred over as he swished his spoon in the soup making hypnotic, thick ripples on each slow drag. Mr. Mitchell listened quietly.
“He was in shock, or something, babbling about not knowing what to do. He said something about planning a funeral and Child Protective Services if I didn’t come home. He said they wanted him to identify Mom’s body.”
Aaron’s voice broke. He swallowed several times, trying to get himself back under control. This is what he’d been afraid would happen.
Mr. Mitchell reached across the table and covered Aaron’s hand with his own. Aaron stared at them as though they belonged to two other people, even though he could feel the warmth.
“I drove home, a million thoughts flying through my mind, positive he was wrong. I got to the hospital and found out they’d been in a car accident. Dad had been brought in unconscious. Mom died at the scene without identification. They found her purse the next morning, but
that
night, they’d needed us to look at her and claim her. Mikey had a few scratches and bruises, but Mom hadn’t been belted in and the head-on collision took her through the windshield. No airbag, nothing to stop her. They pulled out the slab and she was broken, just—
broken
.”
“Mikey?”
“He didn’t go in. I told him to wait outside, and I’d handle it.”
Aaron distractedly brushed moisture off his cheeks, keeping his head down as he relived that night. He heard his voice tremble, he felt the constricting heat in his throat, but now that he’d started, the story unfolded itself, ever-expanding from the cramped hole he’d tucked it away.
“CPS told me to take Mike home, and that they’d watch to see if they needed to collect him, or if I’d be able to parent him. I don’t know if they meant it as a help or a threat, but it was like they expected me to fail, and they’d come swooping in to tear apart what’s left of my family.” He looked up, blinking through the tears that wouldn’t be stopped as he looked earnestly at Mr. Mitchell. “I couldn’t—I can’t—let them take him away. We’re all we have now. We’re it. No aunts and only one uncle who can’t stay sober. No grandparents. Just us.”
“Has CPS been back?”
“No. They’re due, but I haven’t heard from them since the reading of the will. Mom and Dad left me in charge of Mike.” Aaron pushed his sandwich plate away, preferring the visual comfort of tomato soup.
Mr. Mitchell started to pull his hand away. Aaron caught it and linked their fingers. He stared at their joined hands for a minute, offering Mr. Mitchell no explanation. He didn’t try to pull away again, probably offering Aaron all the comfort he wanted in that one grasp.
“What happened after that night?” Mr. Mitchell pressed.
“I contacted law school and told them the situation. They agreed to let me take distance learning for my undeclared classes, the core of the legal curriculum. I moved home to look after Mikey and got a job to pay the bills.” Aaron shook his head slowly. “I’m doing the best I can. I’m failing miserably.”
“No you aren’t. You’re subsisting. You haven’t let yourself mourn yet, have you?”
“There isn’t time. Everybody needs something from me right now. There’ll be time for that later, when I can handle it,” Aaron told him.
“What do
you
think, Mike?” Mr. Mitchell said.
Aaron twisted in his chair, snatching back his hand from Mr. Mitchell. “Mike?”
“I—brought down the dinner dishes,” he said. Mike’s eyes were rimmed with red and he looked just as shell-shocked as Aaron felt.
“How long were you there?” Aaron rasped.
“Long enough.” Mike’s lips twisted as the tears fell. “It’s my fault.”
“None of it is,” Aaron argued.
“I yelled at Dad because I wanted to hang out with the soccer guys before the final summer tournament. There weren’t going to be any parents at the bonfire. Just the guys and some of the girls. I’m the reason he didn’t see the other guy swerve out of his lane. I’m the reason for the accident.” He threw the dishes down. They shattered, skidding across the tile in every direction like the floor was ice. “They died, and you had to leave school.