Not Quite Crazy
Page 50

“Dude, you gonna eat that?” The kid asking was named Chris. The sixteen-year-old had made it clear he was in charge the second Owen was shown his bed.
Owen glanced at the cold burrito and decided it wasn’t worth fighting for . . . even if he thought he’d probably eat it later. The “family” he’d been placed with ate at five thirty whether you were hungry or not. The woman, Mrs. Sims, hadn’t missed a meal since birth, her husband was the polar opposite. They both smiled at him when the social worker dropped Owen off. While they didn’t completely drop the act when the door shut, it was apparent the couple who took in temporary foster children didn’t do it for the love of kids.
“Have it.” Owen pushed his plate Chris’s way.
The older kid didn’t have to be told twice. “Why are you here?” he asked with a mouth full of food.
Owen wasn’t even sure how to answer that. “Why are you here?” he asked instead.
“My dad got tossed back in . . . beat up some chick stealing from him.”
“Oh, man . . . I’m sorry.”
Chris shrugged, took another bite. “Whatever. Better her than me.”
Owen swallowed. “What about your mom?”
“No clue. But if I ever find her, I’ll beat her myself. Fucking leave me with that asshole.”
Owen looked around the barren walls. “Have you been here long?”
“They don’t keep you here more than a few days. Gotta find you a couple willing to put up with your drama.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this a lot.”
Chris dropped half the burrito on the plate and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not much longer. I’ve got some friends hooking me up with a job.”
Owen glanced at Chris’s drawn eyes and pale skin and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of job he thought he’d actually be able to get.
“Yep, get a job . . . make some serious money and get the hell out of dives like this.”
“It’s not that bad.” They both turned to Alex, the other kid in the room. He couldn’t have been older than eleven.
“What do you know?” Chris demanded, his shoulders tensed.
“Better than the streets.”
Owen’s jaw dropped. “You were on the street?”
“Last summer.”
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
He didn’t look twelve.
“So what’s your story?” Owen’s fascination with these kids’ lives started to take away some of his own anxiety about the situation.
“My mom is sick.”
“Your mom’s crazy.”
“Shut up! She’s sick.” For a twelve-year-old, Alex had some bite in him.
Chris decided he was the authority on Alex’s life. “I heard old man Sims talkin’, said your mom is bouncing around a rubber room with white coats keeping her from jumpin’ off a bridge.”
Alex was on his feet and across the room in a heartbeat.
Owen stood up and found himself between the two boys. “Knock it off,” he yelled at Chris.
Chris looked around Owen and poked his words even deeper. “Crazy and rockin’ in a corner, talkin’ to herself.”
Alex pulled back his small fist and lunged. Unfortunately Owen didn’t move fast enough and caught the misguided punch with his lip.
Chris doubled over, laughing, which just made Alex try harder.
Alex pushed past Owen and tried to tackle Chris. He wasn’t a match. Chris outweighed Alex by a good fifty pounds and two feet.
“You wanna piece of me, little shit?”
“Knock it off!”
All three of them stilled when the door to the room swung open.
“What’s going on in here?” Mr. Sims filled the height of the doorway, his dark stare keeping them silent.
Owen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tasted his own blood.
“We were wrestling,” Chris announced.
Owen stood speechless.
“Wrestling?”
Alex blinked a few times, then nodded.
Mr. Sims turned his stare toward Owen. “Is that right?”
Not trusting his voice, he nodded.
Sims didn’t buy it, but he wasn’t concerned enough about their welfare to question further. Sims pointed to Owen’s mouth. “Keep it off the face.” He closed the door, and Chris shoved Alex one last time.
Jason woke with his heart in his throat. His hand reached out to find Rachel gone from his side. His eyes shot open and the room came into focus. Fog shaded the windows, casting gray light into the room.
Noise from the shower in the master bathroom was music to his ears.
Rachel.
She hadn’t left in the middle of the night. The dream he had right before opening his eyes floated in his memory. He was walking around Rachel’s home to find all of her personal belongings gone . . . no clothes or pictures on the wall, Owen’s room was bare except his bed and a schoolbook on his desk. They simply vanished, and even though Jason was vaguely aware he was in the center of a dream, panic rose in his heart.
The water in the shower turned off, and the sound of the shower door opening and closing had him envisioning the woman inside. Jason’s body responded to the image. He closed his eyes and told himself to calm down. Exploring new positions would be the last thing Rachel would be interested in doing now.
“You’re up.”
Just when his dick started to calm, he caught sight of her. She was in one of his dress shirts, the buttons not completely done all the way up. It stopped at the tops of her smooth thighs and swished around her legs as she walked toward him. Rachel was drying her hair with a towel, her face fresh from the shower.
Jason squirmed on the bed and hoped she didn’t notice his discomfort or reaction. They had other things to do. “You look rested.”
“I am, surprisingly.” She planted herself on the edge of the bed and smiled down at him. “I hope you don’t mind about the shirt. It’s all you have in there.”
“Mind? I’ll never wear that shirt again without thinking of you in it.”
She was smiling brighter now.
He liked having that effect on her.
“I’ve been thinking,” she started.
“Owen?”
“Of course.” She tossed the towel aside and leaned over him on the bed. “I need to find a contractor. One who can determine if there is lead in the walls of the house, or any other dangers the Colemans are accusing me of.”
Jason rested his hands behind his head. “If he finds something, it will substantiate their claim.”
“If they find something, then I need to know that and address it like any concerned parent would once something has been brought to their attention. I’m not a licensed environmental health professional, or a contractor. I’m a new homeowner without a reason to question the health of my house. If they don’t find anything, we’re good.”
“Do you think there is an issue?”
“I think the Colemans accused me of neglect and the court jumped first and asked questions later.” She rested a hand on his chest. “If there is an issue with lead, then I would guess it would come up in my bloodwork. Which brings me to my next question . . .”
“Who is my doctor?”
Rachel leaned forward, kissed his chest. “You’re so smart.”
He reached for her when she pulled back. “You’re sexy.”