Baby Don't Return to Me

“John!” I didn’t stop walking as Kennedy ran after me down the steps of his house. “John, come on man.” His hand clamped down on my shoulder and forced me to turn around.

“A little warning would have been fucking nice, Kennedy.” I snapped. How could he not have told me? How had no one known that the infamous CJ Brock was back in town? She had come back just as silently as she had left.

“I didn’t know she was coming, John.” Kennedy sighed. “Don’t get all pissy with me. I called my sister and I told her what was going on. I told her she should come home, but you know Cas, I didn’t actually expect her to show up.”

“Is she back?” I demanded heatedly. Cassandra Brock could not be back, she wasn’t allowed to come back. What gave her the right to come back after everything she’d done?

“I don’t know man.” Kennedy glared at me then and I didn’t expect it from him. This was Kennedy after all, Kennedy could get pissed off at the world but he never got pissed off at his friends. “Our mother is in the hospital, John, Mace is gone. Personally I don’t really give a fuck about whether she is back for good or not. All I care about is that at least one of my sisters is home. No offense but your really don’t have the right to be pissed off that she’s back. Besides,” Kennedy hesitated for only half a beat before he uttered the words that only pissed me off further. “Don’t you think it’s a little late to be this…pissed. Two years too late maybe?”

I wanted to tell him that I had every right to be pissed and the years didn’t factor into it. Cassandra had put me through hell—Not that Kenny knew. If he knew the truth I didn’t doubt that he’d kick my ass which was exactly why he didn’t know. Of course I felt guilty about it, Kennedy was my best friend I didn’t want to lie to him and as a general rule of thumb I didn’t lie to him or any of my friends ever. But whatweCassandra did…If she didn’t tell Ken, I couldn’t. It wasn’t my place, even as Kennedy’s best friend it wasn’t my place. So much time had past now that it almost seemed a moot point to bring up the past…it was two years too late.

“Right. Forget it.” I grumbled turning way and storming down the street. I didn’t care if Kennedy didn’t think I had the right to be pissed—I was pissed.

Cassandra Jacquelyn Brock was back—and she looked just as hot as I remembered.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Jamie…” It was impossible to speak but apparently the single word had translated into a question of who had just stormed out of the room.

“That was Uncle John.” Jamie stated brightly.

“Uncle John,” I echoed as Kennedy stepped back into the house. He was holding a cell phone in his hand, looking ragged.

“We should go to the hospital,” Kennedy spoke up quietly, “Mom is getting worst.” I could only nod wordlessly. I hadn’t spoken to my mother in two years---the last time we had talked she had thrown me out of the house. I had reason to be slightly uneasy about our reunion.

“What about Jamie?”

“Tim is on his way.” Kennedy explained. “He’ll babysit him.”

“I’m not a baby!” Jamie spoke up indignantly.

“No of course not,” Kennedy smiled fondly at his nephew. “Which is why you are going to be a big boy for Uncle Tim, right? You’re. Going. To. Be. Good. Right?” Kennedy enunciated the word slowly and I knew there was a story there.

“I’m always good.”

“Uh huh sure,” Kennedy put his hands on his hips, pursing his lips. “That’s why we can’t have Uncle Pat babysit you anymore right?” He questioned dryly. “Because you were such a good boy last time.” Jamie could only grin, giggling guiltily in response. “Yeah that’s what I thought.” Kennedy smirked.

“What happened?” I questioned. Kennedy glanced at me before gazing at the little boy before him.

“Let’s just say Pat fell asleep on the job and Jamie gave him a makeover with a sharpie.” Jamie was nearly on the floor laughing now at his own cleverness.

“Jamie!” I gasped, and the boy turned to me, looking at me oddly. “Poor Pat.” I snickered seeing the image of Pat with a unibrow, a mustache, and black lipstick forming in my mind. Jamie grinned at me then, happy that I wasn’t about to try to reprimand him. Though I doubt that even at the time of the incident anyone had scolded the boy.

Within five minutes Tim Kirch was walking up the steps to my old home and I didn’t doubt for a minute that he still lived two blocks away in the little brick house on the right. Images of the Kirch basement flashed through my mind. The basement was the eldest Kirch brother’s bedroom, each wall lined with a shelf of CD’s in alphabetical order. I thought of the pool table across the room that I had fallen asleep on one two many times. I had spent the latter years of my teens within the Kirch basement, dreaming up the dream with my favorite boys…

“CJB!” He yelled running to me and wrapping his arms around me, as he spun me around. I shrieked, laughter slipping past my lips as I clung to him, afraid that he would drop me. This was Tim after all and he wasn’t known for his strength.

“Timmy!” I grinned hugging him when he had finally set me on my feet, leaving me dizzy.

“CJB what are you doing here?” Tim questioned, his contagious grin showing off a pair of pearly white teeth. “I didn’t know you were back in town.” He glanced at my brother over my shoulder and I tried to ignore whatever was silently spoken.

“My mother is in the hospital,” I said soberly. “Macy ran away. I needed to come.”

“It’s good to see you, Ceej.” He nodded, a faint smile still on his lips.

“Uncle Tim, Uncle Tim!”

“Chipmunk!”

“Don’t call me that,” Jamie whined stomping his foot.

“What’s up, Jamie?” he laughed at the pouting child who had wedged his body between ours.

“I wanna make s’mores.”

“S’mores?” Tim questioned incredulously. “It’s 95 degrees out and you want s’mores?”

“Plleeease?” Jamie begged clasping his hands together and staring up at Tim with wide innocent eyes. It became evident almost immediately that Jamie had perfected the art of the ‘pathetic innocent beggar’ look that I myself had mastered many years before.

“Fine,” Tim sighed caving and Jamie’s eyes instantly lit up with satisfaction as he ran to the kitchen, ready to tear it apart in search of the needed supplies.

“You got him, Tim?” Kennedy questioned reaching for his car keys.

Tim laughed quietly in response, “Yeah I’ve got the little monster.”

“Thanks man,” He slapped Tim on the back as he moved past his friend toward the door. “Well are you coming or what?” he questioned glancing back at me.

“Yeah,” I muttered as I followed him out the door—wow, he still owned that ugly Volvo. I remember when that Volvo was nothing but rusted salvaged parts from the junk yard. Dad and Kenny had stared at it like it was gold. They had sat under the blistering Arizona sun day after day in the 105 degree heat while Macy and I had watched from the window inside our comfortable 65 degree home with central air, wondering what had compelled them to endure the heat for worthless pieces of rust.

It took fifteen minutes to get to St. Joseph’s Hospital and it took me another five to even get past the front doors.

“CJ,”

“Don’t,” I hated the tone he’d taken in with me. It was his ‘brother’ voice, his protective, wiser, caring voice. I didn’t know where the bitterness inside me came from only that it was there and growing the longer Kennedy stared at me with eyes as though he could read me like a book. Well he couldn’t, Kennedy didn’t know me anymore and he didn’t have the right to give me that look. “You’re two years too late to be pulling that ‘I’m the big brother let me protect you’ shit.”

“C’mon Ceej,” He sighed in exasperation as his head rolled back to stare up at the darkening sky. “Don’t be like that. It’s me,” Way to state the obvious, Ken. “I’m your brother,” He implored. “talk to me.” That right there was exactly why I didn’t want to. Apparently he didn’t catch that.

“You know what you’re right, Kenny, it is you. You’re Kennedy Brock, the asshole who turned his back on his sister when she needed him more than anything in the world. You’re Kennedy Brock the douche bag who chose his friends over his sister. You’re Kennedy Brock the boy who wants to believe anything other than the truth just because was easier, it was painless. You’re Kennedy Brock, but you are not my brother.”

I turned wordlessly for the hospital, feeling very pleased with myself as I road the elevator to the 11th floor with a silent Kennedy Brock, speechless and dumbstruck at my side. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it, he had it coming for two years. After bottling up that declaration for two years I was feeling strangely—invigorated.
The Brock’s had another thing coming if they thought I needed them to cling to like the scared little girl I’d once been.

They were completely and utterly wrong.

Then I saw my mother.