Mom stands in the doorway, stammering but not really saying words. Sean feels cruel, like his and Daniel's presence is throwing all of her mistakes directly in her face, dragging her across a bed of nails made of the failures of her past.
Sean wants to fling his arms around her, pull her into a tight hug, to tell her that it's okay and that this isn't a confrontation but also that he has missed her. It has been difficult these past few months to have his freedom but be unable to contact the mother he reconciled with, the mother who left him as a kid but was there when he needed her the most.
But Sean is afraid the hug will make her crumble like the dirt around her trailer. So he puts on a gentle, practiced smile and says, "I know this is a shock. And a little awkward. But why don't we start with you asking us inside, maybe offering us some water, then we can sit around and talk. Sound okay?"
Mom nods. Mumbles a few words that sound like an invitation, and the three of them go inside the trailer.
It's smaller than Sean remembers. For the couple of months he and Daniel lived here, things were cramped—Sean had to crawl over Daniel if he needed to piss in the middle of the night—but it was a palace compared to the tent they had slept in before that.
"Hey, do you mind if I use your bathroom?" Sean asks as his mom opens the refrigerator.
She hands two bottles of water to Daniel, who holds them without a word. "It is down the hall," Mom says, even though Sean is already walking towards it.
Sean does his business and washes his hands in front of the mirror where he mastered cleaning out his eye, the mirror that first showed him how beat-to-shit his face was after Lisbeth's church. And it's weird how a place that comforted him so much reminds him of so much pain.
He knows he left Mom and Daniel with a gulf of awkwardness, and, sure enough, the two of them stand in the kitchen, studying the floor. Sean is working out how to do the heavy lifting in their conversation, but as he passes the bed Mom gave up to him and Daniel, he pauses. Except for the hospital, it was the first real bed Sean had slept in since staying with Claire and Stephen in Beaver Creek, almost six months before. No wonder he always felt tired in his bones; they probably legit hurt from sleeping on dirt and concrete.
It's just thin, metal walls, but the trailer feels safe. It's why he fucked up and stayed here longer than he should have.
If they had not stayed here for two months—hell, if they had only left a day sooner, then the cops never would have caught them at the border. They could have escaped to Mexico.
Then again, if that happened, Daniel would have grown up as a fugitive in a country where he doesn't speak the language.
But Sean would have been free.
Those nights in jail, he would replay his life, make different choices. Write himself a different ending. So he has thought this before, but he realizes it now: what he should have done was left Daniel with Claire and Stephen. Just gotten up in the middle of the night without saying goodbye, drew all of the heat from the police, and crossed the border by himself. It would have given Daniel a normal life. Daniel never would have gotten shot or brainwashed. And, sure, Sean wouldn't have his brother, but maybe that would have been better for everyone.
I should have been more like Mom and less like Dad, he thinks, staring at the bed, remembering how it was too hot to lie so close to his brother, but Daniel's head on his shoulder always helped him fall asleep at night.
Daniel elbows Sean in the side and hands him one of the bottles of water. "Karen doesn't have any pictures of us up," he says quietly.
"Well, bro, she left us," Sean says. "Those pictures would probably be hard to look at."
"I guess I wanted a sign that she missed us," Daniel says, scratching the cap of his water bottle. "If I left my family behind, I would think about them every day."
"I would too," Sean sighs. "I could never be truly happy if I made that choice."
# # #
An awning hangs off the side of the trailer, and some boards on the ground comprise a makeshift patio. There are a table and some chairs, and Sean, his little brother, and their estranged mother sit down; the shade is not really needed since the sky overhead is a dull gray. The stickiness in the air feels wrong for the middle of the desert.
The cold bottle of water sweats against Sean's hand. Sean watches his mom pull out a pack of cigarettes, and she offers one to him. "No thanks," he says. "I quit last year."
She shrugs and offers one to Daniel.
"Uh, he's sixteen and doesn't smoke," Sean says.
"I know how old he is," Mom says.
"And I can speak for myself," Daniel adds. "You can't just make decisions for me."
"Okay, you're right," Sean says, holding up his palms. "Do you want a cigarette, little bro?"
For a moment, Daniel looks like he will take one, just to spite him. But instead shakes his head.
"Happy belated birthday, by the way," Mom says, lighting a cigarette for herself.
"Thanks. You're only a few years late," Daniel says.
Sean shoots his brother a glare. And Daniel shoots one back.
What the hell, dude? What is with the attitude? But then, meeting Mom is way different this time. Last time, Daniel was a little kid, happy to have his mom. He wasn't an angsty teenager who could process just what Mom's leaving meant. Sean was furious with her when he was sixteen. Hated her more than he hated anything. But in the other life, Mom stepped up. She found them. The first time Daniel met her, she was trying to save him. Here, they stumbled back into her life, and she is clearly not ready for it.
The conversation crawls along like a snail over a trail of salt. Mom goes through all of that small talk bullshit you go through when you have no idea what to say to somebody. She says he and Daniel have grown up nicely. Asks Daniel how school is going. She seems impressed that Sean is graduating art school and has a job lined up with Nickelodeon and even mentions that he is succeeding where she didn't with her poetry. Sean gets her talking about art for a bit, and it almost feels like a natural conversation.
Daniel just sits there, arms crossed, mostly staring at his sneakers, one of which has come untied.
"So you both grew up to be handsome like your father. Do you boys have significant others?" Mom asks.
"Nope," Daniel says.
"I might have a boyfriend," Sean says. "There's this guy I spend time with at school, and he just told me he loves me."
"Toby said he loves you?" Daniel asks, looking up from his shoes.
"Yeah, dude! It was just this morning. I told him te amo last night, and he sent me this long text about how we need to talk, but I feel good about it. I think we might be for-real dating."
"You didn't tell me," Daniel says, and he goes back to staring at his feet.
"Well, that's nice," Mom says. "I'm glad you found someone. But you're young. Don't just settle down with the first person who seems good enough."
"Is that what happened with you and Dad?" Daniel says, and his voice is cold like a metal pipe against someone's knee. "Was Dad just some guy who 'seemed good enough?'"
"Dude, Daniel, chill out," Sean says.
"I loved your father, and he was the best person I ever knew." Mom drags on her cigarette and blows a cloud of smoke that billows above her head before the breeze takes it away. "Look, you tracked me down, came all the way here to grill your bitch mother who left in the middle of the night. So let's stop beating around the bush and get to it."
"Well, hold on," Sean says. "I know Daniel has a lot of questions that he deserves answers to, but we didn't come here to 'grill' you or to make you feel anything about leaving. We just wanted to find you again. To know that you are okay. You're not our 'bitch mother who left'. You're our mother we want to reconnect with."
"Speak for yourself, Sean," Daniel says.
"Dude, we're guests," Sean says. "We showed up at Mom's home after sixteen years uninvited and unannounced. Don't be a rude dick, okay, Daniel?"
"Well, maybe you should have given Karen a heads up, since the two of you are so buddy-buddy, Sean," Daniel snaps.
Sean's teeth dig into his lip. He gets that he said things just to get a rise out of Mom when they first talked in Haven Point, but this is embarrassing. Mom doesn't deserve this. Daniel is acting like a petulant child.
He's about to scold Daniel when Mom says, "Sean, I appreciate that you're trying to keep the peace like your father would, but Daniel is right to be angry with me. Even to hate me. So, Daniel, go ahead and ask your questions. I will answer them the best I can."
"Well, at least someone will answer my questions," Daniel mutters. "Okay, let's jump to it—why did you leave?"
And Mom tells a story Sean has heard before, that she tried to fit what society expected of her, and it didn't work no matter how much effort she put into it. And even though Mom hits the same beats as when she was smoking a cigarette outside the motel near Haven Point, this time the notes ring differently. Before, Sean heard a woman trying to justify the shitty thing she did to him. This time, he hears a woman who tried to put others' wants first—her parents, her husband, society, her kids—and it did not work out. She was suffocating, and it would have killed her if she did not finally make a decision for herself.
It was like she was rotting in a cage, with no future in front of her.
She was the kind of trapped that that is so miserable, so goddamn sad, the kind of hopelessness that might make you carve your wrists open with a shiv you made from a toothbrush.
Even if deep down you know that will hurt the people you love the most.
"So, what, you were in a 'bad place'?" Daniel says. "That is such bullshit. You made all of those choices. Nobody made you get married or have kids. You ended up where you were because of the choices you made."
"Making your own choices doesn't mean you don't fool yourself, Daniel," Mom says. "I had just given birth to you, your brother was growing up, and your father's garage was starting to take off, and I felt like my own life was slipping away. Like I was an empty shell. Leaving you and your brother was the hardest decision I ever made. But it was one that I had to make. For all of us."
"Nope. Don't do that shit." Suddenly Daniel's eyes meet Sean's, and it's like they burrow down Sean's throat. "Don't do something shitty and say it was 'for me.' It was a selfish, shitty decision you made for your selfish, shitty self."
"Bro, come on," Sean says weakly. "You're not even trying to understand."
"Fuck off with your bullshit, Sean," Daniel says and turns back to Mom. "And fuck you, Karen. All this time, I thought there would be a reason. Maybe even a bad one. But there isn't. You just 'got tired' of being a mom and a wife. Your life 'wasn't good enough,' so you traded it for this shithole out in the desert. You bailed on my dad, the so-called 'best person' you've ever known. You hurt my dad, Karen. You bailed on Claire and Stephen, who welcomed us into their house and were so happy just to see us. And you abandoned my brother." Suddenly, Daniel turns back to Sean. "I don't know what the hell is going on with you, bro, but I know that this woman left a giant hole in your heart. Growing up, you had so much anger and hurt over her, and now you're trying to act like it's okay, but there is no way that hole has gone away. So, Karen, I'm pissed off that you hurt my dumbass older brother too." Daniel takes a breath. "So, no bullshit—am I the reason you left?"
"Enano," Sean says, "it wasn't about you."
"Stay out of this, Sean," Daniel says. "Was I the reason you left, Karen? You and Dad and Sean had a decent little life for seven years, but the moment little Daniel comes along, it all becomes too much. So was it me?"
"No," Mom says. "But Esteban thought you might be enough to fill the hole in my heart. And I went along with it, even though deep down I knew you couldn't because it wasn't that type of hole. I loved you as much as I could."
"Cool. That's cool," Daniel says, tears welling up in his eyes. "You loved me as much as you could, but you couldn't love me enough to stay. I guess that's the most someone could love me, huh? That's awesome. This is so fucking awesome." He knocks the chair over as he stands up. Then he stumbles behind the trailer, walks off into the desert.
Sean calls after him. But Daniel doesn't stop.
"This has really gone to shit," Sean mutters as he sits back down.
"What about you, Sean?" Mom says, lighting a second cigarette. "You think I'm a real bitch too?"
Sean shakes his head. "Look, I spent a long time being angry at you. You left, and it hurt so bad. I think you know you hurt us, but I don't think you really understand it. Daniel is right about there being a hole in me, and I had nothing to fill it with except hate, and it's taken me a long, long time to pick all that hate out. I kind of think the hole will always be there, too." He bites his lip. "But at the same time, I really think I understand you, Mom. I truly do. I think you made the right choice by leaving."
"There is no way that you could be my kid and be that sympathetic and understanding," Mom says with a laugh.
"Well, I think you could have sent a birthday card or two. Or maybe reached out, especially once I graduated. Or sent a child-support check or something. Those first few years, I'm pretty sure we ate hotdogs on sandwich bread for every meal. That kind of sucked." He smiles sadly. "But, overall, I think you made the right call doing what was right for you. You know, before we came on this trip, I asked Dad what he wanted me to tell you. And it's the same thing I would have said myself. He hopes you found what you were looking for. And that you are truly happy. And that you could be a part of our lives, if you wanted to."
"That's your father," Mom says. "The sweetest, kindest, best person I've ever met."
"Yeah," Sean says. "He's the best person I ever met too." He scratches at his tattoo of the lonely boy, over the spot where he carved open his arm in the other life.
"Are you okay?" Mom asks. "You're fidgeting like you did when you were upset as a little boy."
"Fine. I'm fine." Sean shakes his head. "Actually, I'm not fine. I'm pretty far from fine. I had a bunch of crazy shit happen to me, and I am not dealing with it well. And I can't tell Daniel because, well, he's my little brother and I have to be strong for him even if he hates me. And I can't tell Dad because . . . because . . . "
"Because Esteban Diaz is the best man you'll ever know, and you don't want him to be disappointed in you?" Mom offers.
Sean nods.
"I know that feeling. But Karen Reynolds is probably the biggest fuckup you'll ever know. She is not going to judge you."
"I didn't come here to dump my problems on you."
"I bailed on being your mom for most of your life. Helping you sort through your shit is probably the least I can do."
Sean takes a breath. "There's too much of it. And most of it will sound crazy. But, like, I love Daniel, right? He's my little brother. My favorite little dude. And I would do anything for him. And I think that's maybe a problem. I love him so much that I would fuck up my life for him. I always had to look out for him when we were growing up, and I ended up making some choices that put him first . . . but they were choices that put me last. I ended up having, like, no life. No future. So then I changed some things, but the consequence was that Daniel and I weren't close anymore. And I missed him so goddamn much that it was like having my heart ripped from my chest. So I started making an effort to connect with him again. Like, we came on this road trip. But there is a bunch of shit going on in my head that I thought I was over, but I'm clearly not over, and there are people I care about who are getting hurt and I don't get why trying to do right by my brother is hurting them. But I also don't know how to put myself first either. I don't know if any of this is making any sense. It's all messed up and fucked up and I am so confused and broken and there's never a right thing to do . . . and . . . "
His words are swallowed by a sob. He doubles over, almost hitting his forehead on the table as he cries. He watches as a string of snot dangles from his nose and feels gross as he sucks it back in, and he wishes his mom would hug him or put a hand on his, and in the other life, she would, but here she isn't good at being Mom yet and that sucks that just fucking sucks.
"I'm sorry," Mom says. "That sounds like a lot."
"It is," Sean says. "It's too much."
"You're a strong kid. And a smart one."
"I appreciate that, but there's no way you can know that."
"I do. You were already that when you were seven. And Esteban Diaz raised you. If you are even a fraction of the man he is, then you are smart enough and strong enough to handle anything life throws at you."
"I'm pretty tired of life throwing things at me, though."
"I know I'm a selfish bitch who bailed on her family," Mom says, "but in life, you're only really responsible for yourself, you know? It sounds like you are always thinking about how your choices affect others, not how they are going to affect you. And if you are always looking out for somebody else, then who is looking out for you, Sean? You know Daniel is your brother, right? Maybe try treating him like that, like he's a person who can look out for himself, like he's someone who can look out for you sometimes, instead of only thinking of him as a responsibility. You might realize that a lot of that weight on your shoulders, you don't actually have to carry."
"Heh," Sean smiles as he wipes at his eyes. "Dad said something similar back in Seattle. He said carrying all that weight is how you get your back broken."
"You know, my leaving was actually a mutual decision between me and your father. I had been unhappy for . . . long enough that I couldn't remember what 'happy' felt like. And for the longest time, I thought I was protecting your dad—and you, then later your brother—by keeping all of that misery to myself. But when I finally told Esteban . . . he knew. It turned out that my unhappiness, I wasn't really keeping it to myself because it was making him unhappy, too." The legs of Mom's chair scrape across the wooden deck as she slides closer. She sets her hand uneasily on Sean's shoulder. "You're not being selfish if you admit you need help. And it isn't noble to suffer. I get that you think you're suffering out of love, but you're not really able to love if your heart is consumed by misery."
Sean reaches across his chest and sets his hand on top of his mother's. Then he tilts his head, resting it on the pillow of their fingers. After a while, he says, "I know it isn't what you wanted for yourself, Karen, but you're actually not terrible at this 'mom' thing."
# # #
Sean finds Daniel almost half a mile behind the trailer, sitting on the ground, drawing a circle in the dirt with a rock.
"You want to talk, enano?" Sean asks.
"Not even a little," Daniel says, standing up and brushing dust off his pants.
"It's okay to be angry. I held that anger for a long time. Too long."
"I know. And now you and Karen are totally cool with each other."
"I found a way to make peace with her," Sean says.
"No, you realized that you are her."
"What?"
"You always leave, Sean. You run away when things get hard or inconvenient. This road trip has had some good moments with us, but it's easy for you to hang out when it's the Vegas strip or camping. I feel like when you get back to Savannah, it will be like none of this ever happened. You'll just hit delete on me again."
"Bro, I have texted you, like, every day for months. You really think I'm just going to abandon you next week?"
Daniel shrugs. "You fucked off to college and just, like, quit being a part of things. It sucked for me, but I was used to you not being around. You know, Lyla still messages me on social media around my birthday, even after you just stopped being friends with her. But worse, you stopped talking to our dad. Our dad, Sean. You would go a month without even texting him. Or calling. But then you started missing holidays, too. You have no idea how hurt he was when you still skipped Thanksgiving after you weren't spending it with your girlfriend's family anymore."
"I'm just busy," Sean says weakly. "Art school is overwhelming. I have anxiety. Me being in over my head isn't the same as not caring or running away."
"You always have excuses," Daniel says, rolling his eyes. "Over Christmas, you asked me if I remembered you tackling me in the yard around Halloween when I was nine. I don't remember that because it's just one of, like, a hundred shitty ways you showed you didn't care about me growing up. I do remember that nine was about the age that I realized you didn't want anything to do with me. And, on one hand, I get it. You were in high school. You wanted to be with your friends and didn't want to hang out with your dorky little brother. But it fucking sucks to have the dude you look up to always act like you're nothing but a pain in his ass, like he wants nothing to do with you. You'd think someone who had his mom bail on him would get what that feels like. And drawing me a picture of some wolves at Christmas isn't going to fix that."
"Dude, come on, I do get how shitty that was. And I am sorry. I am so, so sorry that I ever made you feel like you were a pain in my ass. I mean, yeah, you kind of are a pain in the ass sometimes, but one that I love because you're my favorite person."
"Oh my god, you are so full of shit." Daniel smirks, shaking his head. "You are such a liar and a con-artist that I can't tell if you even realize how full of shit you are. Outside of the past few days, there is nothing in our relationship that says you give a shit about me, let alone that I am your 'favorite person.' And on this trip, you have been sketchy as hell. There's the stealing. And the threatening the guy. But there's also the lying. You said that you had met our mom before today, but she acted like she hadn't seen you since you were eight. Has anything you've told me been true? Is there even a Toby? Are you even bisexual or is that something you made up so I would come out to you to, I dunno, make you feel better about yourself?"
"Daniel, bro," Sean pleads, "I know I haven't had good explanations for things. I know I've been a sketchy dude. But, enano, I care about you so much and I would do anything for you. There are so many ways that I would put you first and—"
"Then stop fucking lying! Stop with the bullshit! Are you really this deluded? It's like you believe that stupid fucking story you're writing in your sketchbook where I have superpowers."
Sean blinks. He swallows the knot in his throat. "You . . . you read my sketchbook?"
"Yeah, I read a few pages of it. I know you're writing a story where our dad is dead, and you're just the most awesome, kindest, best, most inhumanly selfless brother who looks out for me. But that person does not exist, Sean. He is not real. Because my dumbass brother here in the real world is a flakey, unreliable, selfish, self-centered asshat who could never put someone else before himself. He will lie. And steal. For no reason at all. And when he gets called on it, he tries to blame me because he's 'doing it for me.' My brother clearly fucked up so bad that he can't face the consequences because he's the type of person that, if he thought it would get him what he wanted, he would turn his back on the people he's supposed to care about. Like a criminal would. That's clearly what's going on, Sean. You're either a fucking criminal . . . or no better than one."
Each of Daniel's words hits Sean like a boot in the face.
Like a punch in the desert that breaks his ribs.
Like a shard of glass that pierces his eye and takes his sight.
Like a pair of handcuffs that clamps around his wrists and steals his future.
"You sheltered, entitled little shit," Sean mutters. "You fucking ungrateful, stupid little brat."
"Oh, so now you—"
"No, shut the fuck up, Daniel!" Sean shouts. "I have sacrificed so goddamn much for you. Your whole life, someone has protected you. Dad looked out for you in ways that he never looked out for me. I had to do so much more than should ever be asked from a kid just to keep you safe and out of trouble. I gave up parts of my life just so you could have a comfortable little existence. I'm sorry that I wasn't perfect, but I did my best. So you got a few scrapes growing up? I have bruises and fractures and scars all over my body because I was protecting you. You think everything in the sketchbook is delusions and bullshit, but let me tell you this: I was eight goddamn years old, and I woke up one morning, and my fucking mom was gone. She was just gone, Daniel. And I didn't get to be sad about it. 'You have to be strong, mijo, for your hermano, mijo.' That's what Dad said."
And then . . . then when Dad died, I didn't get to be sad about that either. Because I had to be strong for you.
"I gave up my friends," Sean continues. "I gave up my childhood. Because I had to step up and be your parent because you deserved to be a kid more than I did. And you have the goddamn nerve to tell me that I am selfish? That is fucking hilarious when you are a little leech who has sucked all of the good things out of my life, all of the good things I deserved. You say I'm a liar? You want me to stop lying? Well, here's the fucking truth: my life would be a hundred times better if you had never been born. My life is filled with so much shit that it is drowning me, and it's all because I have to be Daniel Diaz's brother."
Daniel stands there, looking like he has just been kicked in the face. Like he's been punched in the gut. Like he has been beaten to shit by all the bad things that have ever happened to his older brother. He isn't crying. But he runs his arm under his nose.
And Sean feels like someone who would tie up a kid in a gas station.
Like someone who would shoot a child at the border.
Like someone who would exploit a scared little boy for her stupid, shitty church.
Like someone who would beat up a one-eyed teenager in the desert.
Like the lowest, worst, most miserable person in the whole world.
"Dude, Daniel, I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry . . ." Sean reaches for his brother.
"Fuck you. Don't fucking touch me," Daniel says, pulling away. "You know what, Sean? Maybe your life is full of shit for other reasons. Maybe it's shitty because of the choices you made. It's definitely not because you're Daniel Diaz's brother. Because you and me? We might have the same blood, but we are not brothers."
There is a frightening, hateful look in Daniel's eyes.
And around them, the air rumbles.
Oh shit, Sean thinks. Daniel's powers are activating.
But the rocks around them stay on the ground.
The dust doesn't move.
Sean isn't blown backwards.
Because it's only the thunder overhead.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Mom's voice says. She's standing a few yards away, uncomfortable, awkward. "But Stanley just said there's a bad storm coming our way. It knocked down some church the next state over. You boys need to get going now if you're going to reach a motel before it hits."
# # #
The wind is already picking up as Sean and his brother leave Away. They drive towards town, not speaking as the storm shakes the car.
