Thicker Than Water

“This is how we’ll increase our profit ratio by eleven percent over the next year.” Nick’s phone vibrated on the conference table and ‘Mikaela’ illuminated the screen. He gestured to the power point presentation and continued. “Starting next week, I’d like to implement more mandatory vacation time and allow paid mental health days off.” His phone buzzed with several texts in a row from his sister. Frowning, Nick said, “I realize this may sound counter-productive in elevating our profit margin, but I can assure you it’s not. There’s viable proof that rested, happy people are productive people. Think about it. You work all week, then scramble over the weekend to get errands done. There’s no break.” Several colleagues glanced at one another and he knew he had their attention. “We’re just racing to keep up with life, which leads to burnout. Let’s give our employees down-time with more flexible work hours and I think we’ll see a dramatic difference in employee loyalty and-”

His phone buzzed and ‘MOM’ flashed on the screen. “I’m sorry,” he said to the group, as he grabbed his phone and hurried toward the hallway. “I need to take this.”

It was Mikaela. Mom died.

He packed, called the airlines…no more bereavement fares? Really? Watered the plant, threw out food nearing expiration dates, grabbed a taxi to the airport, emailed work and crammed into a too-full plane with a failed comedian for a pilot. ‘Welcome aboard. I’m your captain and we are headed to sunny Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.’

Everything in Pennsylvania was gray. The weather was either hot, humid and gray, or cold, humid and gray. The glass doors slid open and thick, gray fog hung low while frigid, damp air whipped around him. Welcome to sunny Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His slender frame hunched deeper into his jacket as he yanked a cap over his choppy blonde hair and dragged his bag along the airport sidewalk toward the taxi stand.

###

The GTO came to life with a roar and idled as Nick sat in front of his mother’s house, unmoving. When he’d arrived, only hours too late, her body already felt like ice. He kissed the ashen forehead of a stranger who resembled his mother, and he knew everything about her was gone. Yet, her face had slackened, releasing years of worry, making her appear younger and at peace.

The loud rumbling of the car comforted him. He pulled the cross out of a box. Its platinum chain draped through his fingers and felt cool, the silver reflecting the waning sunset and creating dappled patterns on the dark interior. He traced his finger along the inscription that read, ‘For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control. -2 Timothy 1:7’

The crucifix looked too bulky for the rear-view mirror, but he wrapped the chain around and watched it dance with the vibrating engine. His mother had kept it on her bed post, kneeling before it every evening. Did she pray to heal? For him to come home and take care of her like a decent son would? The entire situation brought out feelings he didn’t have a label for.

He looked up and saw Mikaela at his window. His sister shivered in her Team USA sweat suit. She’d won the bronze medal in gymnastics for the balance beam, but now her uniform was just another pair of pajamas. She tapped on the window. Nick hesitated, then cracked it open.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Just taking her for a ride,” he said.

“Now?” Mikaela looked irritated. She’d never been able to hide her feelings, which was one of the reasons America fell in love with her during the Olympics. That, and her eyes, which were as blue as the summer sky. She was so dark, you’d never know she was half white, except she looked just like their father. Especially when standing there pissed off.

“Seriously Nick? With everything going on? We have a lot to take care of. A lot to decide. I’ve barely seen you. You have no idea what’s going on.”

“I know, I know.” He avoided her eyes. “Tomorrow. I promise.” He forced a smile. She stood on the shadowy sidewalk looking down at him, arms crossed. He felt like one of her students failing to do a proper dismount after being shown repeatedly.

“Fine.” She marched up the front steps of their porch, turning to watch from the top.

He pulled away from the house, slammed the clutch from first gear to second and ripped around a corner to the tune of screeching tires and scent of burnt rubber.

###

He’d hastily purchased the flight after putting it off until he was six hours and a lifetime late, which earned him a middle seat in the back of the plane and a missed connection. By the time he got home, Mom had passed. Maybe she’d played down just how bad it really was. Maybe he’d chosen his career over his mother. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her in such a deteriorated state; his treasured memories marred by sunken cheeks, bald patches and shaky hands. After Mom got sick, she’d asked him to come home so many times, and he told her work was too hectic at the moment.

###

Nick edged into the pawn shop and dumped a box of shining baubles on the counter. The shop-keeper eyed him with suspicion. He didn’t see healthy-looking white boys selling jewelry around these parts very often.

“They were my mother’s,” Nick said. “I didn’t steal them.” Mikaela probably would have done the same thing, he told himself, folding the payout into his wallet. It wasn’t the money, it was principal. And, this isn’t hers to sell.

###

The wake passed in a blur with vague relatives and high school acquaintances paying their respects. “To Brenda…for her ridiculously fantastic brownies and for never ratting us out for smokin’ a dube behind your garage. Cheers!”

Nick slammed another round as he felt a tap on his shoulder. Mikaela stood before him with a shot. They toasted, then she pulled him aside.

“There are a few things we need to talk about,” she said.

“Like…?” Nick looked around for someone to rescue him. “Like, where’s Mom’s jewelry?”

“Jewelry?” The word slurred as he waved the pub owner over.

“Come on. She specifically told me she saved her jewelry for me, and now you’re back and it’s gone. Coincidence?”

“I don’t remember her saying that. Why would it be for you?” Nick had known Joe, the owner, all his life. Despite being ignored, Nick waved frantically.

“Nick…where is it?”

Nick swung around and looked at her. “I’m her only son.” He leaned over until he was nose-to-nose with Mikaela. “Actually, I’m her only child.” She reeled back as if he’d slapped her. “Why do you think you’d be entitled to anything of my mother’s? Didn’t you already take enough?”

“Your mother? I knew you’d pull this shit! Mister Big Shot New Yorker couldn’t come home once to take care of his mother, but I gave up everything, and you seriously think you’re going to tell me I have no place here?”

“If you have any doubts, look in the mirror, dear sister.” Nick nodded as Joe signaled he’d be over.

“Nick, I am going to ask you one more time. Where is mom’s jewelry?” Mikaela glowered, extending to her full five feet, three-inch stature.

“I sold it.” Nick said with a smug look.

“All of it?” Mikaela hissed. “Grandma’s stuff? Their wedding rings? Are you kidding me!” When he said nothing, she reeled back and threw her drink in his face. “You are such a self-serving egotistical asshole. You have never given a single fuck about anyone but yourself!” Nick grabbed a handful of napkins from the bar and started to speak, but Mikaela cut him off. “Don’t think you can come home, clean the house out and start your shit. It ain’t happening.”

“She was my mother. I can do what I want.”

“You certainly weren’t her son when she needed you! Where the fuck were you? All she wanted was for you to come home. You were too busy, right? What could possibly be more important? You can’t have it both ways. I gave up my apartment. I gave up my job. I gave up my life! And that’s fine because that’s what she did for us at one point, too. I bathed her, fed her, took care of her. I don’t remember you helping with any of that. Did you know my birth mother’s things were in with Mom’s stuff? Dad asked her to keep them for me and I kept everything together. And, brilliant - you sold them.”

Joe strode over and looked at them pointedly. “You two fight nice.”

“He’s a prick, Joe. He just got home and already sold Mom’s jewelry.” Mikaela snatched her purse and stalked off.

“Oh, did ya now?” Joe leveled his gaze at Nick and the question sounded extra harsh in the clipped British accent. “Why would you think that was yours to sell?”

Grabbing his keys, Nick followed her.

He begrudgingly acknowledged his younger sister had a point. Mikaela came to live with them when she was three years old after an aneurism claimed her mother. He was too young to understand words like “cheated”, “affair” and “your black whore!” As dark as Nick was pale, Mikaela was a constant souvenir of the infidelity for Nick’s mother.

“Brenda, she doesn’t have anyone else. I don’t know what else to do. She’s my daughter.” Nick’s father stood tall, his bloodshot blue eyes pleading and sandy hair a disheveled mess.

“Children should not have to pay for the sins of their parents,” Brenda muttered, watching Mikaela tumble around on the floor, and soon found herself spending hours trying to figure out how to braid and tame the crunchy locks of the tiny brown-skinned toddler she’d fallen in love with.

Nick knew selling the jewelry was a dick thing to do. She, the favorite child, the one they’d carted around to all the athletic events. She, who got weekend road trips for away games. She, who was able to be there when he wasn’t because she didn’t have a real job. She, who wasn’t even the real kid. Meanwhile, he was running a company and trying to make a difference in the world. What had she done? Pranced around in spandex? Of course, she could make a few meals or run a bath when needed.

Nick tried his key, but it no longer worked. He pounded on the door, but Mikaela wouldn’t answer. He sat on the porch and ran his hand through his hair.

“Mikaela! What the fuck? Open the goddamn door!” The curtain rustled, then nothing. Dialing her number, he heard her phone ringing from inside.

“C’mon, Mickey! Open the door. I’m not mad, I just want to talk.” Silence. He pounded both fists against the door. “I’m starting to feel like a real loser out here, Mik. Please don’t do this.”

A police cruiser soundlessly came to a halt, blue lights flashing.

“Oh, are you fucking kidding me-”

A brawny officer aimed his flashlight at him. “Sir, please step away from the door and place your driver’s license on the ground in front of you. Are you armed?”

“No, I’m not armed. I’m upset. I live here,” Nick said. He tossed his license on the porch step.

The officer glanced at his identification.“According to this, you live in apartment 12-B on Seventh Avenue in New York, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“This is my mother’s house.”

“Doesn’t seem like your mother wants you here.”

Nick exhaled. "If you only knew."

###

Other than a couple lingering over the juke box, the pub was empty. Joe glanced at him as Nick grabbed a seat at the bar and slid Nick a tumbler with an amber shot of whiskey.

“To your beautiful mum.” Joe raised his bottle.

“She changed the fucking locks,” Nick mumbled.

“Who? Mikaela? Can ya blame her?”

Leaning to one side, he rested his forehead in his hand and sighed. “You know, I really regret not being here for Mom.”

“No, you don’t, mate,” Joe mused. “Regret and remorse are confused as the same, but they’re actually quite the opposite. Regret is when you did something you wish you hadn’t. Like, I regret banging that slag last night because now me knob itches. Remorse is when you didn’t do something you wish you had. Such as, I should have rogered that fit bird last night; she was gagging for it. Nah’mean?”

Nick cocked his head and raised his eyebrow. “Stellar analogies.”

Joe pointed a finger at him. “You bloody sure don’t regret not being there for your mum because that would insinuate that you actually got off your arse and did something for her. I think you mean to say you have remorse. So, back to my original question. Why do you think you have rights your sister doesn’t?”

“Because I’m her son. I’m blood!” blurted Nick.

“Well, let’s have a chat about that for a moment.”

###

“You know what GTO stands for, Nicky? Gas, tools and oil. I’m leaving this mess for you.” His father treasured that classic hunk of metal even though he kidded about it.

When Dad died, Mom kept it out of nostalgia and hid the keys from him because she worried.

“You’re too reckless. I don’t want to get a phone call in the middle of the night,” she sighed.

“That’s how you drive a car like that, Mom. You have to go balls out. It’s not meant for the speed limit,” he said.

“That is exactly why you’re not getting it until you’re more mature,” she’d said. “It’s my job to protect you two, which includes keeping you safe from yourselves. I’ll always be looking out for you.”

“Jeez, Ma,” said Nick, flexing his bicep. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a baby anymore.”

“You’re always gonna be my baby.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, and he squirmed, pretending to push her away while laughing.

She left it for him when she died. Dad’s car, Mom’s cross. Nick had never felt more alone.

###

“A blonde walks into a fire house…” Joe’s grinned devilishly as he polished a glass. “Stop me if you’ve heard this story before. Have you?”

“No,” Nick said, wishing Joe would refill his drink.

“OK. I may have made up the blonde part, but I’m going to assume that was the case, so let’s just go with it. I’ve known your mother since we were school. I was the new kid with the thick glasses, weird accent, and “The Police” stickers all over my book covers. No one wanted to talk to me. There I was, standing in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, looking around for somewhere to sit, and she took pity on me. We just clicked. I’ll bet you didn’t know your mother was a savant when it came to music, especially the British Invasion stuff. Boy, am I gonna miss her.” He grinned. “She loved kids. The woman was completely mad, she wanted her own litter! Well, your mum and dad tried. They did everything they were supposed to do. It just didn’t work out.” Shaking his head, Joe tipped himself another Scotch. “Years ago, when I worked at the fire department before I bought this pub, anyone could surrender a baby at firehouse, no questions asked. Well, one day, some poor sod did. This had never happened before. Five of us and me captain stood around scratching our heads trying to figure out what to do with this wee babe in the middle of the night! I called your mum. She came right down and scooped that little baby boy up, and he was hers. Back then, there wasn’t mounds of paperwork like today. Brenda was over the moon. ‘The Lord provides’, she told me.”

With a jolt of sobriety, Nick realized Joe was talking about him.

“Wait, what? What are you saying? My parents aren’t my parents?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Although they raised you, which technically makes them your parents.”

“Oh, holy shit,” Nick exhaled. “Why didn’t I know this?”

“Brenda made me promise you would never know because she wanted things to be normal-” Joe made air quotations with his fingers. “But I can tell you this: You have no idea how much you were wanted. And your mum would not be happy with the spoilt brat shite you’re pulling. Selling her jewelry and arguing over stuff.” Joe clicked his tongue. “You need to sort yourself out.”

###

Nick pressed the pedal of the GTO to the floor as he traveled back to the pawn shop. The deep rumble soothed him on the dark, empty, country road. Miles flew by with nothing but woods and the narrow beams of the car’s headlights on blackened asphalt. Rapid-fire thoughts ricocheted though his mind: My life has been one huge fucking lie. What else did they lie to me about? I never had a real family. Who is my real family? What’s even real?

Nick caught a glint of something. What is that? He slowed, but it was too late. A giant, majestic buck stood stock-still in the middle of the one-lane road. Jerking the wheel, he swerved hard and lost control.

The cold, dark water started to fill the GTO, creeping up to his ankles. He couldn’t get the car door to open. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his shoulder into the door, shoving hard, but it wouldn’t budge. The water created too much pressure. The power windows, state of the art for the car’s era, shorted out along with the rest of the electrical system leaving him in complete darkness. Water creeped to his belt buckle, moving upward rapidly. Nick turned sideways and tried to push the door open with his legs. When that didn’t work, he tried kicking the frame. The door bent slightly, and more water rushed in.

“Oh, God. Shit. Shit!”

As icy liquid reached the bottom of the steering wheel, his heart pounded with the realization that Gas Tools and Oil was about to be his metal grave. Please, just let me get through this.

Nick squatted on the seat, keeping his head above the frigid water and grabbed the crucifix off the rearview mirror. Not knowing what else to do, he read Mom’s scripture out loud. For God gave us spirit not of fear, but of power and love and self-control…spirit not of fear, but of power…self-control. Power.

Power.

Self-control.

Please God, get me through this and I promise I’ll be the person my mother wanted me to be.

He positioned the large crucifix in his fist, fingers wrapped around the cross. Rearing back, Nick took a deep breath and hit the window as hard as he could with the base of the cross. Sounding a dull thud, it cracked in a spider web pattern. Planting his feet, Nick smashed the base of the cross into the web with both hands. Shattering inward, the window released a whoosh of glass-filled water over his face. Clutching the crucifix, he grabbed the roof with his other hand, pulled himself through the opening, and swam.

###

“Nicky!” Mikaela screamed for him, standing waist deep at the edge of the murky lake. Seeing movement, she plunged forward, snatched his arm through the waters, and dragged him to the shoreline. She feverishly pumped his chest until he hacked up seawater seconds later.

“Oh, my God. I thought we were going to have two funerals. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about a lot,” he admitted after a lengthy coughing fit, as he sat up took in his sister’s tear-streaked face. “I need you to tell me something. Did you know Mom took me in after I was dropped off at a fire station?”

“What?” Mikaela laughed. “Like a stork delivery? Where did you hear that one?”

“Joe told me.”

“Was he messing with you?”

“Apparently not.”

“Oh,” She looked him up and down. “Huh. You are serious. OK…I can see it now.” She stared intently at his face. “I guess that explains why you don’t look like anyone, either.”

“I look a lot more like them than you do,” Nick snickered.

“Hey,” Mikaela kicked his shin. “I pulled your ass out of the water, don’t make me regret it.”

“Regret, or remorse?” Nick leaned back on the cool, grassy bank and looked at the sky.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned back next to him. “If you say so.”

“I feel like everything I’ve known about my life is bullshit. Nothing is valid.”

Mikaela was silent for a moment. “Remember when I was in China for the Olympics?” She asked. “The coach gave us a pep talk about the phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’.” She rolled on her side and faced him. “The true meaning of that saying is this: Those who have battled and spilled blood together, like warriors, soldiers and athletes, have more of a bond than related family does. He said we’d always share a deep bond after training, traveling and doing the Olympics, and to always look out for each other. He also told us to be polite and try the all the weird foods offered. Those words stuck with me. Not the food part, although I ate strange things and still have no clue what they were.”

“That’s what she said,” he muttered. Mikaela snorted.

“Anyway, Mom went out of her way to make me feel like I fit in, but, you know…” Mikaela shrugged. “She wanted the same thing for us. To take care of each other. I heard her praying for it every night. Like it or not, I’m all you’ve got left and we’re blood.”

“I know.” Nick turned to her. “I’m sorry. I can be a shit.”

“That's putting it mildly. Let’s go home. It's fucking cold.” She wrung her shirt out and nodded at the lake. “Clearly, we’ll have to take my car. In moments like this I’m glad I don’t have cloth seats.”

“Why? Does this happen to you frequently?” Nick stood and felt around his legs and arms for damage. “Hey, why were you out here?”

“I was looking for you,” Mikaela said, and reached into her pocket. “I made you a key.”

Written by - April Hunter

Clearwater, FL 33759

thisisaprilhunter@gmail.com