It poured that day. Jeb had been gone for about three hours when I began to worry. He'd left to get groceries and to check the news as was the usual routine. Usually it took about an hour and a half. I glanced into the living room, Nudge had the TV on. The cartoons playing there were Technicolor and well, cartoonish against the worn out living room and the grey of the skies out side. Fang was at the table his eyes fixed on a book. Gaz and Angel were curled up on the couch next to Nudge and Iggy was making sandwiches.
I sighed and headed over ignoring the protests of the younger ones as I switched the station to the local news channel. Maybe the traffic was bad.
"…the accident caused at least one fatality and injured several others. The highway will remain closed for investigations for at least the next few…" I lost interest in the words lost at that point. The pictures on the screen showed a mangled heap of cars, a sign in the background named the high way as the one that lead up the mountain. The one that Jeb would have to take in order to get home.
It was still pouring that night as I slowly moved Angel, Nudge and Gazzy in the direction of bed. Three year old Angel kept asking where he was, her voice so small and tired and confused that I the tears I fought so valiantly to hold back almost came then and there. I managed to get the three of them through baths and stories and into bed with kisses, hugs and avoidances. And then I headed to the living room. The TV was off. The room was dark except for the single light that was on in the kitchen. Iggy was nowhere to be seen. Fang sat at the table. His head in his hands his eyes down cast. I knew that he was crying even though he made no sound.
"It's not fair…" he muttered as I sat next to him. There were drops of water on the scratched surface of the wooden table. I closed my eyes they were stinging harder now and I fought the sob that caught half way down my throat.
"I know," I said my voice sounded so different, so tired. It was just us now. It always had been just us. Jeb wasn't our father and never had been. And now he was gone and we were on our own again. The tear slipped our accidentally. It landed on the table mingling with the drops that were already there.
Sleep refused to come that night. Fang and I sat at the table, tears stopped at about midnight and shortly after that he fell asleep against my shoulder. He looked like a twelve year old. As I watched the lines of worry and pain smooth out I made a promise, my hand rising to push his hair back from his face, his cheek sticky with his, our, tears. I wouldn't let anything happen to them. They were all the family I had left.
Really short, rather sad piece. Can be seen as an extension of First Try or as a stand alone. This is the only time I see Fang crying in any of my pieces, so please don't gripe at me about that. At this point I still see him as not quite having bulit up his mask, also their still in shok about what happened. At least what they think happened.