Mothers and Fathers (Billy)

It's nearly midnight when the cruiser pulls into the yard. Moths are swirling around the porch light and Billy is sitting on the front steps. "Bella's on the couch," he says preemptively as Charlie walks up. He holds out a Budweiser. "Let her sleep for awhile."

Charlie pauses, then accepts the beer and opens it with a fizzy pop. "Was she okay?"

Billy takes a swig from his own can. He's drinking Mountain Dew, which is a far more illegal substance in the Black household than alcohol. "Kind of. She didn't say much. I don't think she gets it."

(Sarah had come home hours earlier than expected and with Bella in tow. She'd sent the kids out of the house and called Charlie while Billy put a lasagna in the oven. After that she'd pulled Billy into the bedroom and made silent love to him, more desperately than she had in years, all smooth skin and soft curves and smelling like the wife he still loved and had missed for so damn long. He didn't really understand why she did it but he certainly wasn't complaining.)

Charlie's twenty-nine but he looks fifty as he sinks onto the steps. He's silent for a long moment, sipping the beer. Then he says, "Fuck."

"Yep." The Mountain Dew tastes really good. "You talked to her?"

"Uh-huh."

"So where's the bitch been?"

"Don't do that," Charlie says wearily. When Billy gives him a disbelieving look he adds, "She's the mother of my child. Don't call her that."

"Oh, Jesus, are you thinking of taking her back? If you do I'll beat the shit out of you."

"She doesn't want to be taken back." (Billy does not fail to note that Charlie skirted the question.) "She just wants to see Bella."

That bitch. "She might've thought of that earlier."

"She says she was sick."

"So what? Sarah didn't run away." Thank God Sarah didn't run away. There were times Billy had stayed awake all night for fear she'd be gone when he woke up.

"I'm not saying it was right. I just..." Charlie rubs his hand over his face. "Shit. I don't know. What would you do?"

Billy tries - and fails - to ignore the shame that twists in his gut. "Man, trust me, I'm not the guy to ask."

(He'd asked. Of course he'd asked. Tiffany didn't know and didn't plan on finding out; it could very well be her asshole boyfriend's and she didn't want her kid tied down with that. She'd said she didn't need or want anything aside from a new start and to please just let it lie; Sarah had been pregnant again and already getting sicker. Billy can't stand watching Jacob and Embry together so he steers clear of the playground.)

"Talk to Harry," he adds. "Harry always knows what to say about shit like this." Harry is like Yoda on weed, except Harry doesn't smoke. Harry is naturally that mellow. Maybe it's all those meds he takes to keep his heart rate down.

"I don't have a damn clue how to explain it to Bella. I never told her much-"

"Which is right," says Billy. "The girl's eight, she's got the rest of her life to be freaked out by the heavy stuff. Carry it for her for as long as you can."

"Yeah. Yeah, probably." They drink in silence for another few minutes, then Charlie sets the beer aside; it's still two-thirds full. "I've really got to get her home."

Billy stashes the soda can under the porch with the others.

The living room is empty. They find Bella on Jacob's floor, both of them asleep under piles of blankets.