HIDING - every scar has a story

30. Snap back.

{Cary}

On Thursday, Cary bussed home from school, instead of taking the bus to Jon's house. He had an essay to finish, and Jon said that if he had a rough draft done he would come over and edit it the next day.

He expected the main floor of the house to be empty and to eat cold leftovers out of the fridge. Instead, he found Phillippa in the kitchen with Liam tied securely on her back in a broad blue-and-green striped cloth. She smiled when he came in, her cheeks high and round as apples.

"Mr. Douglas, you are just in time. Your mother said you need supper, so I made chicken and rice."

"Don't call me that," Cary said. "Just Cary." The kitchen was filled with the smell of garlic, ginger and soy sauce. "You don't have to cook for me." His stomach growled in disagreement.

Phillippa tsk'd disapprovingly. "I have brothers. I know boys need good food to grow. You are much too skinny."

Cary flinched away from her hand, shrugging his shoulders to cover his involuntary response. Phillippa snapped her fingers instead of pinching his arm. She bent to take the bubbling pan of chicken drumsticks out of the oven. Liam surveyed his new view—the kitchen ceiling fan—with the same puzzled expression he gave everything.

Cary opened the fridge, hunting for a Coke.

"You were at a friend's house today?" Phillippa asked.

He slung a leg over one of the stools at the island counter. "Nope." He cracked open his pop. "Homework."

Phillippa set a plate of curry chicken and rice in front of him, smiling into his face. Cary looked away. "Thanks." He took a bite, then closed his eyes: it was amazing, hot, sweet and spicy.

Phillippa laughed and his face colored. One side of his mouth wanted to smile with her, but he didn't do that here. He watched her clean up out of the corner of his eye as he ate. Phillippa was younger than the other working women he had seen slipping in and out of side entrances in his neighbourhood. He didn't think she would last long in this house. But he was starting to hope.

Liam made a little complaining noise, and Phillippa hefted him around onto her hip and lifted him out of his wrappings. Cary got up to help mix Liam's bottle.

Phillippa smiled again. "Thank you, Mr.–Cary. Do you want to feed him?"

Cary stepped back, crossing his arms tightly. "No." As she settled Liam in the corner of her elbow, he remembered the baby's warmth and weight in his arms. He stayed to watch Liam eat until his brother's eyes drooped with sleep, and Phillippa took the baby upstairs to settle him for his nap.

Cary went to his room and sat at his desk, pouring music from his headphones into his brain and writing one painstaking sentence after another on his essay. He vaguely heard the front door open and close; a few minutes later his mother came into his room carrying Liam. He took his headphones off, watching her sideways.

"Look Liam, it's your big brother. I know, we never see him anymore. Take a good look." Beverly brought Liam close so his blurry eyes focused on Cary's face and widened.

Cary leaned away. "Mom, I have homework."

She put on a pout. "You're so boring: homework here, homework at a friend's house. Liam my love, lie here." She laid the baby in the center of Cary's bed. Liam kicked his legs and gurgled.

"Where's the nanny?" Cary asked.

His mother was rummaging in his closet. "I asked her for a turn." She flashed a smile, sharp as a knife blade, around his closet door. "She's going to do some laundry."