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Authors: Ker Dukey

Tags: #Men by Numbers, #Book One

Ten (My Brothers Best Friend) (2 page)

BOOK: Ten (My Brothers Best Friend)
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Life can grant things like love, happiness, and success, but also evil, destruction, and spite. Each one has graced my life at some point in time.

Pulling up to the house I grew up in, pain seizes my chest. The yard is overgrown and shields the window to my bedroom.

The one Dalton used to climb through
.

Memories of him pull and twist at my mind causing my soul to silently cry out in pain.

Inhaling a quivering breath, I still my hands from shaking; a reaction that always accompanies thoughts of him. My eyes scan the familiar houses lining the street; they look the same, unchanged by time. No feeling of comfort douses me. Instead, anger and regret saturate my heart.

Bringing the focus back to my childhood home, I grip the keys tighter in my hand, letting the pinch of pain bring me back to my reason for coming back here. The blue paint is peeling and the wraparound porch has been exposed to a cold winter, leaving it battered and untamed. Of all the houses lining the street, Dad’s is the one that looks neglected - a far cry from how house proud both he and Mom were when she lived here. My heart hurts to think of Dad living in these conditions.

Less than thirty-six hours ago I received the phone call that my Dad had passed. I didn’t even know he was sick. I never understood why he stayed here, or why we let him. I knew he was upset with the way things played out for me but he wasn’t the type of man - the type of father - who would turn his back on his child or his family, so I knew there was more to it, but Mom was tight-lipped and refused to talk about it.

Everything was so muddled for me back then. I was sixteen when I was shipped away with Mom and Jonah, my life changing forever in a blink of an eye.

“He’s poison, just like the rest of them. I told you to stay away from the Moore’s boy. He’s trash, Alexandria. Trash, trash, trash.”

Mom’s harsh words echo around the empty space surrounding me, and even though it’s a phantom sound from a memory ten years old, I still find myself covering my ears with the palms of my hands, just like I did back then.

I will myself to move and stop thinking about everything that happened back then, but it’s hard, I feel like I’ve been trapped there my whole life, struggling to move on. I never understood why Dalton never reached out to me, never let me see him. I gained something magical from our love and will cherish that for the rest of my life, even if he doesn’t, but the pain of losing that sweet, precious kind of love that can’t be replaced is as strong as the first night I spent thousands of miles away from him.

I grab the suitcase and boxes from the trunk and fight my way through the weeds up the garden path, inhaling a breath to prepare myself as I unlock the front door. Mail and old newspapers lie in a layer of dust just inside the entranceway. Pushing the door farther open creates a cloud of dirt around me. The musky scent hits me in the face causing a coughing fit. I want to cry but I promised myself I’d be strong and do what needs to be done then get back to my life - the life I was sent away to live.
Was I living?

Seeing the dust and the amount of mail collected, I realize he must not have been staying here for a while. Maybe he was in the hospital for a long time. Why didn’t someone call us?

I’d missed him over the years. He was a fantastic father, even in the moments when he’d tried to keep me away from Dalton. It was hard to come to terms with him not being with Mom. I blamed myself and the situation I’d gotten myself into, even though I knew Jonah’s drug problem played a huge part.

I hate the dark spots, the blank explanations I got from Mom. I don’t think she will ever be honest with me about what happened, and I still can’t talk to Jonah since that day. He tries calling, and sends cards and letters. He never misses a birthday, and I do wonder what he’s like now. But the version of him in my bedroom ten years ago can’t be erased from my mind, so I stay far away from him.

I drop my luggage on the table before walking to the window and drawing the curtains open. I still my thoughts of fleeing and get on with it. Dalton’s house glares at me from across the street, mocking me through the pane of glass.

Dalton came to live with his uncle when his father went to prison for murder. The Moore family was well known to my Daddy, the town’s sheriff, but to me, at ten years old, Dalton Moore was just a boy, and I was just a girl completely smitten with the older boy across the street. I remember the first day I ever saw him. The sun was so hot that day, and Mom and slathered my skin in sunscreen. I didn’t mind, I was used to her over-protective manner, and the screen smelled sweet like coconut. It was one of the first things Dalton ever said to me.

“You smell so sweet. Like coconut cake.”

I
remember Mom rushing in with the morning paper; I was sitting at the breakfast table watching Jonah shovel in Lucky Charms. He was so gross. The milk dripping down his chin onto his clean shirt made Dad’s eyes roll and frown lines crease his forehead, but Mom was insistent he was going through a growth spurt and needed extra calories, so we all refrained from commenting on his pig-like behavior. It’s funny the things you remember, and usually I don’t remember whole days in such detail, but this day was the day from which my life would never be the same again.

T
EN
Y
EARS
A
GO

“There’s a moving truck over at the Moore’s house,” Mom shouted to Dad, walking in and frantically pacing between the table and the kitchen window that overlooked our front yard.

Dad jumped up from the table to stare out the window with her. He was ready for work, his uniform crease-free, and it fit him perfectly. The sheriff badge sat proud on his breast. My Dad was a hero in my young eyes; he looked after the whole town and everyone looked up to him. Well, all except Jonah, who hated being the sheriff’s son and made it his life’s mission to get into trouble wherever possible.

When he was nine years old, Jonah stole candy from our local sweetshop. Daddy made him work there after school for a month to repay Mrs. Gibson, but it didn’t stop Jonah from getting into more trouble. He knew that no matter what he did, he would never get into real police trouble because his Dad was the police. He used to steal milk from doorsteps every morning after the milkman had been, and put wet mud in mailboxes. It was all prank-type behavior, but his juvenile crimes evolved with age. One time he took me to the park, and when a boy pushed me too high on the swings causing me to fall and bust my knees and lip, he flew into a rage, hitting the boy until he fell to the ground in a fetal position. He then threw the boy’s bike into the road in front of a car, which nearly caused the car to crash. Dad was more concerned with my injuries than what Jonah had done.

Mom made Jonah this way with me. She told Jonah every time we left the house together that I was his responsibility, his soul mate, and that he had to take good care of me. She used to tell us stories of my birth, how I didn’t cry when I was born. She believes it’s because I was happy to be here, that I was supposed to be here, with Jonah. She told us I had severe colic, and that I cried constantly in pain until Jonah sat beside my cot and stroked my tummy. She was convinced only his presence would soothe me. Jonah loved hearing those stories and took them all to heart, which made life difficult for me. He was over-protective and mean to anyone who wanted to play with me, which meant when he wasn’t around I, spent a lot of time on my own.

“It’s a small truck for removals, honey,” Dad said, chomping down on a piece of toast and washing it down with black coffee that made his kisses smell like he ate the stuff straight from the jar. I remember bouncing on my seat trying to look over them out the window, but Mom blocked the view.

“It doesn’t matter how big the truck is, as long as we get rid of that awful Keith. I hate that I have to look at him every day.”

Keith Moore had always lived across from us. The house used to belong to his wife, Marie; it was left to her in her folks’ will. She married Keith just before I was born but Mom always had something to say whenever she saw the duo.


H
ER MOTHER WOULD TURN IN HER GRAVE IF SHE KNEW HER DAUGHTER FISHED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POOL AND SCRAPED THE DIRT OFF THE BOTTOM.”

“H
E ONLY MARRIED HER FOR THE HOUSE SO HE CAN MOCK US.”

“W
HY CAN’T HE JUST OVERDOSE ALREADY?”

Marie was a quiet woman who wore huge sunglasses to cover up the bruises on her face. One day I woke early, anxious for the first day of school, and saw her loading her car with suitcases in a hurry before getting in the car and driving away. I never saw her again. I overheard Dad telling Mom she was in New York now and was never coming back. Mom was thrilled, hoping it meant Keith would have to move, but he didn’t. She left him the house and everything inside but her clothes. Dad had tried to help her when he saw she had new bruises but she was terrified of her husband; even I could sense it, and I never knew much about the emotion until I got older.

“Well, I’ll find out what’s happening today. Now kiss me, I have to go to work.”

My nose scrunched, knowing she would be getting a coffee kiss, and I’d be next.

After Dad left for work, Mom told me to go play outside while she spoke to Jonah. I’d been out in the yard for five minutes. I’d just buckled my roller skates into place when the removal van pulled away giving me a full view of the Moore’s house, and on the top step stood a boy. My heart did a funny flip; I’ve been searching for that same feeling for the last ten years but I’ve never felt the impact of another’s soul like I did that day. I still feel it when I think of the moment I first saw him. I revisit the memory just to touch the feeling, if only for a fleeting moment.

Light blond hair lay in chaos over his head, drooping low into the clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen. I couldn’t move, and when he noticed me, time appeared to stop. I would have believed my heart stopped beating in that moment if I hadn’t felt it frantically pounding in my chest.

Ten years old, but I knew what was happening went beyond our innocence. Age didn’t matter; it was fate. It was souls realigning and engaging each other.

Mom talked about soul mates my whole life. She believed that soul mates didn’t have to be your husband or wife, but you could find them in a friend or sibling, and she constantly told Jonah I was his and he had to look after me.
HOW WRONG SHE WAS.

A shadow fell over my body and the boy’s eyes came into focus as he said, “You smell so sweet. Like coconut cake. Have you been baking?”

I couldn’t speak for a minute, but he grinned down at me then took my hands in his and helped me to stand on my skates.

“I’m Dalton. I just moved in with my uncle.”

“I’m Jonah,” came the booming voice of my brother, breaking our connection by tugging my hands from Dalton’s. “She’s my sister and she’s only ten.”

BOOK: Ten (My Brothers Best Friend)
5.09Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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