Chapter Twelve

June 18th, 1922
Miles City, Montana

On Friday's, the office of Dazzling People, Nature, and Art shut down just after noon, eagered to get away from their desk, the constant ringing phones, and shouts of their frazzled deskmates. Today was extra special for the office and many employees buzzed on about the all-night happy hour they would all be having at the journalists and photographer's favorite local bar, The Leaky Bathtub. All of the spreads for the July edition of the magazine had finally been approved. All that remained for the next edition was final spell check and placing advertisements from local businesses strategically between stories.

Jack listened to the happy yells of his employees who were scrambling to get out of work to have a late lunch before their evening of unwinding at the bar. Jack was busy putting all of the important folders away to be referenced during the fiasco of the August edition that would be catching up to them in the next three weeks. He let out a long sigh, his knee aching and making his entire leg radiate. The only thing that plagued his mind was the disappearance of his cigarettes. That normally wouldn't bother him. But all he could envision was Charlie taking them, which he didn't want to believe was the case. It scared Jack to live in a household where he and Rose had to have everything locked down and their son's hands always sight. He didn't want to parent that way. He didn't want to distrust his children.

A light rap on his open office door, however, drew him over his shoulder. It was Eleanor. She was wearing a white and yellow striped dress that day. It had a swooped neckline that dipped precariously low to her bossom. She was wearing a matching yellow necklace that was gingerly tucked in between her breasts. When Jack had first saw her that morning, he thought she was dressed rather out of character and a little racy from her typical attire. He had chalked it up to the thought of having a new job, however, and wanting to make a decent impression. Eleanor grinned at him, gripping the strap of her purse slung over her shoulder.

"Are you ready?" She asked, rather eagerly.

"I think so," Jack nodded, looking over the drawer of files once more before promptly slamming it shut, "Let's go."

Eleanor lived in the general same direction as the Dawson's but the walk was a bit further. They passed by Jack's neighborhood and he glanced up the road. He didn't see the children or Rose out in the yard. Three more neighborhoods later, they came upon Eleanor's house, second from the entrance on the right. It was a neighborhood of smaller houses, typically two or three bedroom. They were much closer together, too, and Eleanor didn't have half the yard that Jack's house had. There was a large sturdy oak tree in her front yard, however, that cast relieving shade on the walk path leading towards her door. Eleanor was so giddy with delight as she unlocked the door and welcomed Jack into her home.

When Jack entered the house, he began soaking everything in. The entry foyer was small and compact with a table beside the door for keys, purses, and backpacks. Directly ahead was a cozy living room with a slanted ceiling and a red brick fireplace. Beside it, a large archway emptied into a modestly sized kitchen that had a booth built into the wall beneath a picture window overlooking a vacant backyard in need of a serious trimming and weeding. The kitchen wasn't nearly as large as Jack's, but it was quaint and had just the right amount of counterspace despite lacking an island. A large master bedroom was opposite the kitchen on the other side of the living room. In the front foyer, there was a narrow stairwell leading upstairs to a guest bedroom, a bathroom, and Ivan's bedroom. Eleanor set her purse on the table and gestured for Jack to follow her to the kitchen. He was still looking at everything, down to the art hanging on the walls, as he followed at her heels.

"Sit down, please," Eleanor told him, "Your leg must hurt from the walk."

"Oh, thank you," Jack nodded, brushing past her to squeeze into the booth, "I really took for granted the days I didn't have a wad of metal stuck in my knee," He laughed at himself as he gingerly laid his cane up against the wall. Eleanor set a kettle on the stove top and began gathering dishes and sugar cubes for some tea, "Is Ivan home?"

Eleanor paused and looked out the window above the sink, "No, I don't think so. His bicycle isn't on the side of the house."

"Do you know where he is?"

Eleanor laughed to Jack's surprise and shook her head, looking at her boss, "No. And I'm starting to give up on figuring out."

"It's probably better he's not here," Jack said, "We can speak more freely."

The kettle began to whistle and Eleanor focused on making the tea. Her son was recently a troublesome topic for her. It was her ticket to comfort, however, if it meant that Jack Dawson would spend time with her. Eleanor glanced towards Jack who was sitting at the kitchen table lost in the runnings of his thoughts. All Eleanor could imagine was the soft touch of his lips and gentle carress of his calloused hands.

"Rose told me something yesterday that I'd like to ask you about," Jack finally said.

Eleanor felt her heart pang at the mention of Rose. Rose Dawson had always been so warm and welcoming to her. The red headed woman effortlessly had included Eleanor in several "mom projects" for the school over the years. They had had lunch together. Rose had taken care of her son multiple times, watching him without ever asking for anything in exchange. But in that moment, Eleanor decidedly didn't care for Rose anymore. All she cared for was the patriarch of the Dawson family. He was the glue in that household and she wanted his magic for her's.

"What's that?" Eleanor lifted her eyes from making the tea.

"Does the name Lawrence Freedman ring a bell to you?" Jack asked.

Eleanor pondered the name for a moment and then shook her head, "No, it doesn't."

"Apparently the Freedman's are the newest family on the block," Jack elaborated, "And they have three troublesome boys who apparently do nothing but cause destruction. Their son, Lawrence, is the root of this problem, I think. I think he's the one who has Ivan and Charlie acting weird."

"What do you suggest we do?" Eleanor asked as she set a lemon wedge on the saucer and served Jack his tea. She slid into the booth with him and squeezed as close as she could to him without distracting him. Jack dropped a sugar cube into his tea and stirred slowly.

"I don't know..." Jack admitted, shaking his head, "I think it's just important we know his name."

"Maybe we should talk to the family?" Eleanor suggested, sipping her tea daintily.

Jack bit down on his lip for a moment and lowered his eyes. Eleanor took the moment to admire his tan skin, again finding herself lost in the contour of his neck muscles. Jack heaved a sigh and looked to Eleanor, "Maybe I'm prying too much but... have you noticed anything in your house has gone missing recently?"

Eleanor felt her heart beat thunderously at the question and she stalled by drinking more tea, "What do you mean?"

"I'm just asking because my pack of cigarettes is missing," Jack told her, "And Rose didn't take them. I really don't want to think Charlie did it but... I'm starting to question it," Jack shook his head, "What kind of father am I? Thinking my own child is a thief?"

Eleanor seized the moment. She reached her hand out, pressing her palm firmly to his thigh, "Jack, you're not a bad father. In fact, I think you're one of the greatest father's in the world."

"Well, I certainly don't feel like that," Jack told her, "It's already horrible I'm considering Charlie to be a thief... but it will be even worse if I'm right. Charlie's never taken anything from us before."

Eleanor's hand nearly quivered as she kept it pressed to his warm thigh. Eleanor nodded slowly, "Things have disappeared here, too."

"Really?" Jack immediately looked at Eleanor, "Like what?"

"It's unlady-like, but I smoke, too," Eleanor said, "I can't even keep cigarettes here anymore. It's like Ivan knows all of my hiding spots. And I had to put a lock on the liquor cabinet two weeks ago."

Jack felt his heart beat to a stop. The liquor cabinet in their dining room was only accessed a few times a year. The liquor bottles in there were reserved for birthdays, special guests, and celeboratory work occasions like Rose finishing a novel or Jack's magazine winning an award. Jack hadn't even thought to look at the liquor cabinet. Slowly, he felt the warmth of his body oozing out.

"You're missing... liquor?" Jack said, his mind spinning, "Your ten year old son is stealing liquor?"

Eleanor felt her cheeks flush and immediately tears sprung to her eyes, "I know! What kind of mother am I?! Just leaving that stuff laying around, tempting my boy like that..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jack shook his head. Immediately, he reached his arm around Eleanor's shoulder in the booth as she rubbed at the fresh tears running down her cheeks, "I didn't mean it like that, Eleanor, I just realized... I haven't checked my liquor cabinet."

"You're going to want to check that..." Eleanor croaked, still rubbing at her cheeks.

"Shit..." Jack muttered. Eleanor broke out into a cry now, catching him off guard.

"I'm scared, Jack! We need to talk to this Freedman family. I could understand Ivan's acting out, but it's crossing a line when a boy like Charlie Dawson starts partaking," As more hot salty tears brimmed her eyes, Eleanor lunged forward, pressing her face into Jack's chest. The smell of his faint cologne mesmerized her and she felt so much better pressed against him.

Without thinking, Jack allowed his arm to droop around Eleanor as she cried in his arms. He was so worried about what awaited him at home. Jack's heart beat harshly in his chest. He didn't want to think what he was thinking. And he certainly didn't want to open that cabinet and realize there was something missing...

...

When Jack returned home a little after three, he was exhausted mentally from his day. Eleanor had spent the rest of their time together crying and clinging to him. He felt bad for her, but he wasn't equipped to comfort her properly, he thought. If anything, his wanting to chat with her only upset her. He decided he would need to distance the topic with Eleanor to prevent any future problems emotionally with her.

Jack came flying through the front door. He spied Rose sitting at the kitchen island reading a magazine. She grinned and waved when he came in, but found herself perplexed as her husband made a direct bee line into the dining room.

"Jack?" Rose called, her voice plagued in confusion. Rose slid off of her stool, grabbing her mug of coffee as she went into the dining room. Jack was pushing a chair out of his way as he went to the far back wall where several landscape paintings by a local artist hung, "Jack, what are you doing?" Rose asked.

Jack didn't reply. Immediately, he threw open the cabinet doors to where they stored the special occasion liquor. Rose watched as Jack shuffled through the bottles, clanking them together. Some wobbled precariously. Rose watched as her husband inspected every label, disregarding them onto the dining room table. Bottle by bottle, he pulled them all out, cluttering them up together. He stopped, however, as the bottles thinned out in the cabinet. He sighed, closing his eyes.

"Jack," Rose appeared at his side, tenderly gripping his arm, "what is it?"

He started at her touch, looking at his wife slowly. Jack didn't want to say it. He didn't want to think it. He didn't want to put it out there into the universe because it would make it true and a present thought. Jack didn't want to entertain any of this, but the pieces were laying in front of him, begging to be made into a frame around the whole picture.

"Eleanor told me," Jack said slowly, his voice almost faltering, "that Ivan was stealing liquor from her house."

"What?" Rose was astounded.

Jack gazed into the nearly empty liquor cabinet, "We're missing a bottle of tequila and a bottle of gin."

"You don't think..."

"Where's Charlie?" Jack turned to Rose.

"He left about an hour ago on his bike," Rose told him, her heart rate spiking and her body becoming chilled at the thought, "He... he had a backpack on."

"Goddammit!" Jack sneered. He curled his hands into fists, "Did you see what he was up to today?"

"He was down here earlier," Rose replied as she intensely scrutinized the afternoon in her mind, combing over every detail, "He was in the dining room, but not for long. He told me he was looking for something for his train model. He thought he left it on the bookshelf right here."

Jack's nostrils flared and he was certain visible steam was coming out of his ears, "This cannot be happening to us right now, Rose," Jack began storming for the door.

"Jack!" Rose set her coffee down and grabbed his arm. He nearly towed her after him he was so angry and full of fight, "What are you doing!?"

"I'm going to find Charlie," Jack told her, his face hard as stone, "I'm going to bring him home and he's not going to leave his room for the rest of the damn summer!"

"Jack, wait, please," Rose gripped his arm tighter, preventing him from storming out of the house, "You can't just go find him and drag him back kicking and screaming."

"And why the hell not?!" Jack shot back, "I'm his father!"

"It will just make things worse," Rose said, shaking her head, "We need a better plan. If we come down too hard, he will just pull away faster."

"He's stealing from us!"

"We can't just go pointing our finger and blaming him immediately," Rose told him, "We need to have a serious honest-to-God conversation with him. We need to give Charlie a chance to confess to us, Jack," Her husband was quiet for a moment, his face pensive and unsure. Rose clutched his arm again, "Please, don't go looking for him, Jack. You're so angry right now and nothing good will come of it. Let's devise a game plan first. Please...?"

Jack sighed, lowering his head, "You're right... fine. Let me tell you everything I know..."

...

Charlie found himself in an alleyway of commercial buildings on the north side of Miles City. He never saw his parents on that side of town, so he considered himself relatively safe. Lawrence was sitting up on a trash can, Ivan on the ground with his back against a grimey brick wall. Both were smoking a cigarette. It was a rather odd sight for Charlie to see Ivan doing bad things.

"Hey, Charlie," Lawrence greeted. He tossed a crumpled up box of cigarettes which Charlie deftly caught. He turned the label upright in his palm, relieved to see it wasn't his father's. He felt relatively bad the next morning when they greeted him with smiles at the breakfast table, "That's your share."

"My share?" Charlie echoed, looking through his wild bangs at Lawrence.

"Yeah, you give a little, you get a little," Lawrence shrugged. The trash can creaked beneath the shifting of his large body, "You brought us that whole bottle of tequila, so that half a pack of cigarettes are all yours. Peter snagged 'em from his dad's smoke lounge. They're from India or something."

Charlie lowered his eyes to the label, following the orange stars stamped across the label. He then took his backpack off and reached into it, holding a bottle of gin, half-full, gleaming in the light. Lawrence hopped down from the trash can while Ivan came to his feet.

"Gin, huh," Lawrence took the bottle into his hand, his cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, "Nice brand, too. Good work, Charlie."

"Man, you better slow down," Ivan looked to Charlie, "Your parents are gonna start noticing the faster you take 'em. My mom caught on and she's put a lock on that cabinet now."

"We're gonna figure our way out around the locks," Lawrence assured him while jamming the gin into his backpack of already aplenty stolen relics, "In the mean time, though, he's right, Charlie. We got plenty for tonight and tomorrow. It's the weekend, boys."

"Yeah..." Charlie gripped his backpack straps on his shoulders and rocked back and forth in his boots, "What are we doing this weekend?"

"Peter and I got some really cool bottle rockets yesterday," Lawrence told Charlie as he heaved his heavy backpack over his thick shoulders, "We were gonna go to the high perch down by that fishing hole and fire them off at the little kids swimming. You in?"

Charlie was completely sold on the idea of bottle rockets, "Yeah, I'm in!"

"Cool," Lawrence nodded. He then glanced up and down the alleyway, "Well, I'll see you two later. Hang tight."

"Later," Charlie waved, nearly star struck by the type of leader Lawrence was.

...

Charlie was home just a little after four o'clock. He hopped off the side of his bicycle and pushed the gate open, allowing it to clack against the fence. As he wheeled his bike across the lawn, movement caught his attention and he looked over his handlebars to see both his parents sitting in the wicker chairs on the porch. In between them, a single ottoman sat. Charlie took his time laying his bike down beside Valentina's and didn't even bother to jog when he returned to close the gate. Nonchalantly, he came up the stairs onto the front porch.

"Were you guys waiting for me?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, why don't you sit down with us, bud?" His father waved his hand.

Charlie ached at the idea of a meeting with both his parents. He shuffled his feet for a few moments before he gave in. He crossed to the ottoman and plopped down, putting his hands in between his legs. Meekly, he looked between his mother and father. Neither had any kind of facial expression he could read.

"So, where're you coming back from?" Jack asked, reclining in his wicker chair. He reached for a small tumbler on the table between him and Rose, taking a sip of his whiskey and coke. Rose had made it for him to calm him down earlier. It had worked, but Jack still had that fire in his belly.

"I was with Ivan," Charlie told them, "We reconnected after we had lunch with his mom."

"Was it just you and Ivan?" Rose asked.

"No... it was a friend group meeting," Charlie said slowly, being sure to calculate his words and avoid any self-incriminating details. He dug his nails into his palms, don't give any more information than what they ask for. Details don't matter, details don't matter...

"Where were you guys hanging out?"

"Just at the park," Charlie replied, making a point to look directly at his mother. He paused and shifted his gaze to his father, "Are these questions goin' somewhere?"

"Yes, actually," Jack leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his thighs. He held his tumbler loosely. Condensation dripped from the ends, staining into the porch wood, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about two missing bottles from the liquor cabinet, would you?"

Charlie froze in that moment. He had to tell himself manually to breath in and out. He almost fell like he was going to fall off that ottoman right that moment. Charlie's legs tightened, sandwiching his hands even tighter, as if to prevent his father from seeing his red hands. Jack set his tumbler on the table and shook his head, as if he completely understood.

"Why?" Jack asked sharply, "You're nine years old. What do you think liquor will do for you? I know what it will do for you; it'll kill your brain cells. And even so-"

"Dad, wait," Charlie held his hands up now, his heart beating ferociously in his chest. He had one shot to make this clear, "I... I wasn't stealing them to drink them."

Jack was clearly caught off guard. His voice faltered once before he managed to say, "What?"

"One of our friends got a BB gun for his birthday," Charlie explained, "I was takin' those bottles for him to shoot them. We wanted to watch them explode! The stuff inside of it smells like a science experiment gone wrong," Charlie wrinkled his nose up, "I just poured it all out in the grass."

Jack and Rose exchanged a look. Jack pensively licked his lips, "You're... certain, Charlie? You're not lying to me right now, are you?" Charlie shook his head, "Well, do you see how incriminating all of that made you look? Why didn't you just ask your mother or I for a glass container? Hell, I've got two dozens of milk bottles in the attic I was saving for an art project. Why don't you guys just use those? You wasted nearly twenty dollars worth of alcohol, Charlie."

"Sorry," Charlie shrugged sheepishly, "I didn't know that stuff was any good."

His parents smiled now. Charlie was in the clear. But deep inside his gut it ached. He felt rather terrible about acting deceiving and shady with his parents. It was the only way though he could continue to see the outside world and have, for once, an exhilerating summer break.