Chapter Thirty-One : Atlas

It's a three-hour drive there. Josh hasn't said much. He's been reading, although if he's as nervous as I am about this, I'm not sure he's actually absorbing anything he's reading. He's been on the same page for five minutes. It's a drawing of what looks like a battle scene, but mostly all I see is cleavage.

"Is that manga appropriate for a twelve-year-old?" I ask him.

He shifts ever so slightly so that the cover of the book is all I can see. "Yes."

His voice dropped an entire octave on that lie. At least he's a horrible liar. If he ends up staying with me, detecting when he is or isn't telling me the truth should be easy.

If he ends up staying with me, maybe I should buy him a few self-help books for balance. I'll stock his bookshelves with whatever graphic novels he wants, and then secretly slip in a few of my own to supplement my lack of skills as a guardian. Untamed, Man Enough, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck. Heck, maybe even some sacred text from every major world religion. I'll take whatever help I can get.

Especially after today. As much as Josh may think this is a one-way trip, I know in my heart he's coming right back to Boston with me. I just hope he doesn't come back kicking and screaming.

When the GPS says we're turning onto the street, Josh's hand tightens around his manga. He doesn't look up from it, though, even though he still hasn't turned the page. When I spot Tim's address on the curb in front of a run-down frame house, I pull the car over. The house is across the street on the driver's side, but Josh pretends to be sunk into his story.

"We're here."

Josh drops his book and finally looks up. I point to the house, and Josh stares at it for a good ten seconds. Then he puts the book in his backpack.

He brought most of his things with him. The clothes I bought him, some of the books. They're all stuffed so tight in a backpack that barely zips, and he holds it in his lap with the hope that he has at least one parent that will take him.

"Can we wait a little bit?" he asks.

"Sure."

While he waits, he fidgets with everything. The air vents, his seat belt, the music on his Bluetooth. Ten minutes pass while I patiently give him the time to work up whatever courage he's in need of that will help him open the door.

I look at the house, taking my attention off Josh for a while. There's an old white Ford in the driveway, which is probably why Josh hasn't worked up the courage to walk across the street and knock on his door yet. It's an indicator that someone is probably home.

I haven't tried to talk him out of this because I know what it's like to want to know your father. He's going to live in this fantasy until he's able to confront his reality. As a kid, I had the highest hopes for family, too, but after years of being disappointed, I realized that just because you're born into a group of people, that doesn't make them your family.

"Should I just go knock?" Josh finally asks. He's scared, and to be honest, I'm not feeling the bravest right now, either. I went through a lot with Tim. I'm not looking forward to seeing him again, and I am absolutely dreading the potential outcome of this meeting.

I don't think this is the best place for Josh, and I'm in no position to tell him he can't reconnect with his father. But my biggest fear is that he's going to choose to stay here. That Tim is going to be like my mother and welcome Josh with open arms, simply because he knows it's the one thing I don't want to happen.

"I can go with you if you want," I say, even though it's the last thing I want to do. I'll have to stand in front of that man and pretend I don't want to punch him for the sake of my little brother.

Josh doesn't move for a while. I'm staring at my phone, attempting to appear patient as he works up courage, but I want to throw the car in drive and get him out of here.

I eventually feel Josh's finger briefly graze an old scar on my arm, so I look over at him. He's staring at my arm, taking in the faded scars that remain from the shit I endured living with Sutton and Tim. Josh has never asked me about the scars, though.

"Did Tim do that to you?"

I clench my arm and nod. "Yeah, but it was a long time ago. How he treats a son might be completely different from how he treated a stepson."

"That shouldn't matter, right? If he treated you like that, why should he get another chance with me?"

It's the first time Josh has come close to admitting his father isn't a hero.

I don't want to be the person he blames in the future for not having a relationship with his dad, but I want to tell him he's right. His father shouldn't get another chance. He left and never looked back. There's no excuse good enough to walk away from your son.

There's this toxic belief that family should stick together simply because they're family. But the best thing I ever did for myself was walk away from them. It scares me to think of where I might be had I not done that. It scares me to think of where Josh might end up if he doesn't do that.

Josh looks past me, toward the house. His eyes grow a little wider, prompting me to turn and look.

Tim is outside, making his way from the front door to his truck. Josh and I watch in mutually stunned silence.

He looks fragile—older and smaller. Or maybe that's because I'm no longer a kid.

He's swigging from the last of a beer can when he opens the front door to his truck. He tosses the empty can into the bed and then leans inside his cab in search of something.

"I don't know what to do," Josh whispers. He seems all of the twelve years old that he is right now. It kind of breaks my heart to see him so nervous. Josh's eyes are pleading for truth when he looks back at me, like he needs me to guide him in this moment.

I've never said a bad word about Tim to Josh, but knowing I'm not being completely honest with him about my feelings feels like I'm doing a disservice to him as a brother. Maybe my silence on the matter is more damaging than my truth would be.

I sigh and set my phone down, giving this moment my full attention. Not that it didn't have my full attention before, but I was trying to give Josh space. It doesn't seem like he wants it, though. He wants brutal honesty, and what else is an older brother good for if not for that?

"I don't know my dad," I admit. "I know his name, but that's about it. Sutton said he left when I was young, probably about the same age you were when Tim left. It used to bother me, not knowing my father. I used to worry about him. I imagined there was something awful that was keeping him away, like he was locked up in a prison somewhere on a wrongful conviction. I used to come up with these wild scenarios that would excuse how he could know I existed but not be in my life. Because what kind of man could have a son and not want to know him?"

Josh is still staring across the yard at Tim, but I can see that he's soaking up every word I'm saying.

"My father never sent a penny of child support. He never made an effort at all. My father never bothered to do a Google search, because if he had, he would have easily found me. Hell, you did that at the age of twelve. You found me, and you're a kid. He's a grown-ass adult."

I move so that I have Josh's full attention. "So is Tim. He is a capable, grown man, and if he cared about anything more than himself, he would have made an effort. He knows your name, he knows what city you live in, he knows how old you are."

Josh's eyes are starting to tear up.

"It blows my mind that this man has you for a son, and you want to be in his life, yet he still hasn't made an effort. You're a privilege, Josh. Believe me, if I'd known you existed, I would have knocked over buildings to find you."

As soon as I say that, a tear trickles out of his eye, so Josh quickly looks out his passenger window, away from Tim's house, away from me. I see him wipe at his eyes, and it breaks my heart.

It also makes me angry as hell that they kept him from me knowingly. My mother knew I would have been a good brother to him, which is why she chose not to let us be a part of each other's lives. She knew my love for him would outweigh the love she was capable of, so she selfishly kept us apart.

But I don't want my anger for my mother or Tim or even my father to bleed into Josh's decision. He's old enough to make up his own mind, so he can take my honesty and his hope, and I'll support him in whatever he decides to do with those things.

When Josh finally looks back at me, his eyes are still filled with tears and questions and indecision. He's looking at me like I need to be the one to make this decision for him.

I just shake my head. "They took twelve years from us, Josh. I don't think I can forgive them for that, but I won't be upset if you do want to forgive them. I only ever want to be honest with you, but you are your own person, and if you want to give your father a chance to get to know you, I'll put a smile on my face and walk you straight to his front door. You just let me know how to be here for you and I'll be here."

Josh nods and uses his shirt to wipe away another tear. He inhales, and on his exhale, he says, "He has a truck."

I don't know what he means by that, but I follow his line of sight back to Tim's truck.

"All this time I imagined him to be really poor, without a way back to Boston," he says. "I even thought maybe he never came because he wasn't physically able to drive, like maybe his vision was too bad or something. I don't know. But he has a truck and he never even tried."

I don't interfere with his thought process. I just want to be here for him when he finalizes it.

"He doesn't deserve me, does he." He says it like a statement rather than a question.

"Neither of them deserves you."

He doesn't move for an entire minute as he stares past me out the window. But then he looks at me firmly, sitting a little taller. "You know that homework I'm behind on? The family tree?" Josh pulls at his seat belt and begins to fasten it. "They never said how big the tree needed to be. I'll just draw a baby seedling. They don't have branches." He pats the dash. "Let's go."

I laugh hard at that. I wasn't expecting it. The way this kid weaves humor into the most depressing moments gives me hope for him. I think he's gonna be okay.

"A seedling, huh?" I start the car and pull on my own seat belt. "That might work."

"I can draw a seedling with two tiny branches. Yours and mine. We'll be on our own brand-new, tiny family tree—one that starts with us."

I feel heat behind my eyes, so I grab my sunglasses off the dash and put them on. "A whole new family tree that starts with us. I like it."

He nods. "And we'll do a much better job of keeping it alive than our shitty parents did."

"That shouldn't be too hard." I am absolutely relieved by this decision. Josh may change his mind in the future, but I have a strong suspicion that even if he contacts his father going forward, he's never going to choose him over me. Josh reminds me a lot of myself, and devotion is a trait we have in spades.

"Atlas?" Josh says my name right as I put the car in drive.

"Yeah?"

"Can I flip him off?"

I stare back at Tim and his truck and his house. It's an immature request, but one I happily respond to with, "Please do."

Josh leans as far toward my window as his seat belt will allow. I roll down the window and honk the horn. Tim looks over at us right as I start to drive away.

Josh flips him off and yells, "Ass hole," out my window. Once we're out of Tim's eyesight, Josh falls back against his seat, laughing.

"It's asshole, Josh. One word."

"Asshole," he says, pronouncing it the correct way.

"Thank you. Now stop saying it. You're twelve."