And they were bad.

You see when we walked into Bill’s, he was on the couch and he was high as a kite. His eyes were glassy, his body limp and his limbs not in his control. There was an open bottle of half-drunk vodka next to some drug paraphernalia on the dirty, cluttered coffee table in front of him.

I stared at my cousin, frozen in shock. I’d never seen him like this. I’d seen him drunk, of course. I’d even seen him drunk around his kids, though infrequently. I’d also seen him high, back in the day, and guessed he still partook but my guess was he partook of weed. Not what would necessitate him having the kind of drug paraphernalia he had right then. I’d never seen him high like this and definitely not high around his kids

He didn’t hide his liquor from me or his kids which was something I didn’t like. I knew how weird and uncomfortable it was seeing a parent drink all the time, drink until they were fall down, crazy, stupid and sometimes mean drunk. And I didn’t want that for Billy and Billie. But it wasn’t illegal and to my knowledge it didn’t happen very often.

I’d never seen the drug paraphernalia. Not ever.

Seeing Bill sitting on his couch getting stoned, not worrying that his kids were gone and not out searching high and low for them but instead getting drunk and high pissed me off to no end.

Also, I’d tidied their house that week, twice, and it looked like it hadn’t been picked up or cleaned in the last decade. How it could go from relatively clean and tidy to a disaster in a few days was beyond me but it did. The proof was spread out before me.

But I couldn’t think about any of this. I had to think of the kids who I didn’t want to see this. So I turned to them saying, “Kids, go to your room.”

To this Billy, his eyes on his Dad, his lips in a mini-nine year old kid sneer, replied, “This is no big deal. We’ve seen this before, Auntie Mara. We see it like, all the time.”

I froze again for half a second at learning this knowledge before my eyes moved to Billie to see she didn’t seem overly perturbed by the state of her Dad. Although she was standing very close to her brother in a way that it appeared she was seeking some sort of protection. The only hint she gave that she was uncomfortable was her ankle twisted to the side and her little girl hand was clenched in her brother’s. I turned back to my cousin and on my turn I saw that Mitch was examining Billy and Billie and his jaw was rock hard.

Then Mitch, too, turned back to Bill and growled in a voice that sent a chill up my spine, “Your kids are gone, you got no food in the house but you can get your hands on smack and vodka?”

Bill blinked up at Mitch then blinked at me then grinned a wonky (not adorable) grin and slurred, “Hey, beautiful Mara.”

“Bill –” I started but Mitch interrupted me.

“Get their shit,” he ordered tersely, my head whipped to him and that was when I noticed he was losing it. He was holding on but only by a thread. I knew this because it wasn’t only his jaw that was rock hard, his entire face was.

“Pardon?” I whispered cautiously.

He was digging into his back jeans pocket but his eyes never left Bill when he said to me, “Get their shit.”

“Mitch –” I began and his gaze sliced to me.

“Get their shit,” he snarled. “All of it.”

He then pulled out his phone and I thought maybe I should make an effort to tame the suddenly savage beast.

“Maybe while I talk with Bill, you could help them –” I started to suggest and Mitch leaned into me and I stopped speaking because at that moment the thread on his control snapped and he roared, “Mara, get their shit!”

I blinked in the face of his anger as my heart stuttered in my chest.

I thought this was my scene, my struggle, my fight and Mitch was along for the ride. What I realized in that moment, staring in the face of his fury was that I was not in control of this situation and there was no way I was going to gain control. No way at all.

That was why I whispered, “Okay, Mitch.”

He flipped his phone open with sharp, angry movements, holding his entire body tense while he did it like if he didn’t he wouldn’t be responsible for what his body would do.

Then he hit some buttons as Bill said on a wince, “Dude, keep it down. What the fuck?”

“Shut your mouth,” Mitch ground out, eyes to his phone, face hard.

Bill looked to me. “Who’s this fuckin’ guy and what’s his fuckin’ problem?”

“Right now, I’m your problem, assclown,” Mitch bit off, his eyes cutting to Bill.

I glanced at Billy and Billie. Billie was staring wide-eyed at the proceedings. Billy was fighting back a grin.

Oh boy.

Maybe I should try to gain control of the situation.

“Mitch,” I said, sidling closer to him, “maybe you should –”

I didn’t finish again because his eyes cut to me again and he asked on a dangerous whisper, “What’d I tell you to do?”

I stared up at him frozen to the spot. Okay, that answered that. Mitch was in charge.

I nodded and turned to the kids. “All right guys. Let’s go get your stuff.” I moved to them. “Come on, let’s go.”

Billy grinned at me then tugged his sister’s hand and they moved down the hall. They shared a room which was okay for now considering their ages but it was just okay. Billy was getting old enough he needed his own space and it wouldn’t be long before it was borderline inappropriate for a brother and sister to share a room.

I wondered what the rent on the three-bedroom townhouses at the complex was as I searched for some kind of luggage or bags. Though I knew this would be fruitless as I knew there were none and I was right. They didn’t even have garbage bags, something I discovered upon tidying one of the million times I tidied. I always meant to remember to buy some and, being me and being a dork, I always forgot.

I found a load of plastic grocery bags (Bill clearly not the kind of person to worry about the environment). By the time we filled these with Billy and Billie’s not so abundant collection of clothes, shoes and toys, I found they barely had any soap or shampoo. I added a quick pit stop to the store on my evening’s agenda. Then we trudged out to the living room carrying the bags only to find there were two police officers in the room.

“You brought a cop here!” Bill shouted when the kids and I hit the room and I looked at my cousin to see he’d lost his drugged lethargy. He was pacing agitatedly and awkwardly while he eyed the cops and me.

“Bill –” I started.

“Mara,” Mitch called and I stopped talking and looked to him. He was holding out his keys. “Load up the truck.”

“But –” I began again.

“I can’t believe you brought a fuckin’ cop here!” Bill yelled, he was up but his coordination was not so good and he was mostly fumbling around. I didn’t figure he was much of a threat, what with him being drunk and high and three cops being in the room.

“I’ll deal with this,” Mitch caught my attention. “Load up the truck.”

My eyes went to the uniformed police officers before going to Mitch. I was thinking this was not good. Bill was an idiot but he was my cousin and he was the kids’ Dad. There was good in him somewhere, I knew it. I just needed to stop screwing around living in denial and find a way to jumpstart him by pulling out the good so he could get himself sorted. I needed to remind him how we used to talk about how we wanted our lives to be and how we’d dreamed and schemed of making them something better. I just needed to make sure Billy and Billie were safe while Bill sorted himself out and I was thinking my plans might be foiled if Bill was thrown into jail because of me.

“I think –” I started to say to Mitch.

His eyes narrowed before he clipped, “Baby, load up the fuckin’ truck.”

The uniformed police officers were both studying me with what appeared to be weirdly intense interest but I was again frozen in the face of Mitch’s fury. It was then that Billy moved forward, calmly grabbed Mitch’s keys and headed to the door carrying four bags full of clothes and shoes. Billie followed her brother.

There it was again. I was not in charge.

Damn.

I glanced at Bill and followed Billie.

After the first round I made the kids sit in the truck while I got the rest of their stuff. When I opened the door and walked in, Bill was ranting, flailing and struggling with the police officers. He did this while Mitch glared at him, his phone to his ear, his other hand to his hip. I scurried through the house to go and grab some more bags.

On trip three, the last of the trips, I heard Mitch say in his phone, “Give me a second.” Then he called, “Mara,” and I looked at him. “That it?” he asked, dipping his head to the bags I was carrying.

I nodded.

“Don’t come back,” he ordered. “Stay in the truck with the kids.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“You freakin’ bitch!” Bill shouted at me. I tried not to look at him but I had to look at him so I looked at him to see he was cuffed and sitting on his couch, bouncing clumsily around. His eyes were shooting daggers at me. “You freakin’ bitch!”

“Mara, out to the truck,” Mitch demanded.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” Bill yelled. “My fuckin’ family. Flesh and blood! You bitch!”

“Out to the truck, Mara, now,” Mitch clipped.

“Fuck you, Mara!” Bill screamed at me. “Fuck you! You just bought yourself trouble, you bitch!”

I looked at Bill and explained, “Bill, they haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’ll fuck with you!” he shouted.

“Mara, out to the truck,” Mitch ordered but I ignored him.

“Somewhere inside you, you have to know they deserve better. You know how you’re making them feel. You know you don’t want to make them feel that way,” I said softly to my cousin.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Bill yelled loudly to me.

“They’ve been gone for hours. They came in, Bill, and you didn’t even look at them. Now you’re not even asking about them,” I pointed out and Bill scowled at me.

Mitch started toward me with a warning, “Mara.”

My head jerked to him then I looked to my cousin who was glaring at me, too far gone to let anything penetrate. Then I nodded and turned to the door.

And as I walked out the door, I heard Bill shriek, “You’ll regret this, you bitch! You’ll regret it! I swear to fuckin’ Christ you’ll fuckin’ regret this!”

I closed my eyes hard and walked swiftly to Mitch’s truck luckily making it there mostly blind.

Mitch came out before the officers led Bill out and we were away.

“Everyone okay?” Mitch asked into the silent cab when we’d made it to Speer Boulevard.

“Oh yeah,” Billy answered with a smile in his voice which made me feel slightly better.

“I’m okay,” Billie answered uncertainly which made that slightly better fade away.

I stared out the side window. I was terrified out of my head for a lot of reasons and wondering what on earth I was going to do next.

“Mara?” Mitch called.

I kept staring out the side window, focused on my terror.

Mitch’s fingers curled around my knee and squeezed. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” I lied to the window.

We got home and Mitch and Billy unloaded the truck while Billie and me (well, mostly me), separated darks, lights and whites before we started loading up the washer.

When they had it all in, I announced, “Billy, you’re in the second bedroom. I’ll pull out the futon later. Billie, you’re with me.”

“Yippee!” Billie cried, that Teflon fortress clearly having clamped tight around her and life was no longer scary and uncertain, it was wonderful again. She was on an adventure, on Billie vacation. She’d always liked visiting her Auntie Mara’s house.

I ignored Mitch who scared me normally but his behavior at Bill’s scared me more than normally and continued my pronouncements.

“Before we deal with sleeping arrangements, we have to go to the drugstore.” I turned to Mitch. In an effort to dismiss him politely from his self-appointed duties, I told his shoulder, “Thanks for everything. Uh…we’ll talk tomorrow?”

“What do you need at the drugstore?” Mitch asked and my eyes slid to his.

“We’re okay now,” I assured him. “I’ll pop by tomorrow –”

“I didn’t ask if you were okay. I asked what you needed at the drugstore,” Mitch replied.