Cold feet(12)
Author: Brenda Novak

There was no answer, but the banging didn’t subside. It came in loud, staccato bursts that grated on Madison’s nerves.

"Who is it?" she repeated more insistently, and snapped on the porch light so she could peer through the peephole.

It definitely wasn’t Caleb Trovato. She could see that right away. Mr. Trovato was probably six foot four, two hundred ten pounds of well-defined muscle. He was the kind of man who could turn a woman’s head from forty feet away. This person was skinny to the point of looking emaciated. His hair was almost as dark as Mr. Trovato’s, though not nearly as thick. And–

Her visitor moved and she caught a glimpse of his face.

Oh, God! It was Johnny.

Unlatching the safety chain, Madison opened the door for her half brother. "Johnny! What are you doing here?"

He sniffed as though he had allergies and shifted on the balls of his feet, regarding her with red-rimmed eyes. Behind him, headlights from some kind of car bore down on her, but the engine was off.

"I need a few bucks," he said, point-blank. "Can you help me out?"

Johnny and Tye had come to live with Madison and her parents for the first time when Johnny was fifteen and Tye was sixteen. From the beginning, they’d been in and out of trouble with her parents, the school, even the authorities, and didn’t bother much with a little sister who was only eight. But for the eighteen months Johnny was living at the house, Madison had liked him a lot better than Tye, who was far more remote. She’d sort of idealized Johnny, because he did sometimes do her a kind deed. He’d let her play with the stray cats he brought home occasionally–before her mother made him turn them loose again. He’d share whatever candy filled his pockets. Tye ignored her completely.

"Are you alone?" she hedged, caught completely off guard. Last she’d heard, Johnny was supposed to be in prison for another three years.

"Yeah."

"It doesn’t look like you’re alone." She shaded her eyes against the headlights and squinted, making out a shadowy figure sitting in the driver’s seat of what was probably an old Buick Skylark.

"So I’m with a friend. Does it matter?" More nervous energy. More restless movements. From the way he was acting, he had to be on something.

Evidently there wasn’t much about Johnny’s lifestyle that had changed over the years. "When did you get out?"

He sniffled again. "Couple weeks ago, I guess."

He was so strung out, Madison wasn’t sure he could tell one day from the next. Maybe he hadn’t been released at all; maybe he’d escaped, and whoever was waiting in the car was his accomplice.

She tightened her robe, wondering what to do. If she gave Johnny money, he’d only use it to buy more drugs. But she had to help him. Except for Tye, she was his only family. And she felt guilty for having had the love and support of their father and for having a good mother when theirs was so neglectful and abusive.

"I’ve got twenty bucks," she said.

"Is that all?"

"That’s all."

"Then how ’bout a drink? You got a beer for your brother?"

Madison hesitated. Johnny had his better moments, but he could also be unpredictable and moody. And, for all she knew, the person waiting in the car was another ex-convict. But Johnny was her half brother and he’d never done anything truly threatening to her in the past.

"Come in and I’ll get you a Coke." She opened the door wider, to admit him, then locked it against whoever was waiting in the car.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked as she led him to the kitchen.

He didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at something in the hall.

Madison turned to see what that something was, and felt her stomach drop when she realized Brianna was standing there. "Go back to bed, sweetheart," she said. She didn’t want her daughter around Johnny. The fact that he had a drug habit didn’t necessarily make him dangerous. But they hadn’t spent any time together in years, and Madison didn’t feel she knew him all that well anymore.

"Who’s he?" Brianna asked, peering at Johnny with the disdain she’d practiced on Caleb Trovato.

Johnny hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his filthy, tattered jeans and smiled. "Don’t you remember me, pipsqueak? I saw you once, just before your grandpa blew his brains out."

"Johnny, don’t," Madison said.

"Mommy, how do you blow your brains out?" Brianna asked.

Madison sent Johnny a look that was meant to silence him. "Never mind, honey. Grandpa went to heaven. You know that."

Johnny gave a disbelieving snort when she said "heaven," but Madison ignored him. Brianna was too little to understand everything that had happened, and she saw no reason to explain the gritty details, at least, not while Brianna was so young.

"You never could stand the truth," he said, shaking his head.

"There’s no need to upset her. She’s only six," Madison replied. But she didn’t blame Johnny for being bitter. He’d been the one to find Ellis, and everyone knew Ellis had meant it to be that way. Just before Madison and her mother went on an all-day shopping trip, he’d called Johnny and said he needed to talk to him.

A few hours later, Johnny had found what was left of their father in Ellis’s workshop.

"She doesn’t look upset to me," he said.

Brianna was clinging to Elizabeth while giving him a challenging glare. "My name isn’t pipsqueak," she told him. "And I don’t think my father would like you very much."

Horrified, Madison gaped at her. "Brianna!"

"It’s true."

"I don’t care if it is," she said. "Johnny’s your uncle. You’re not to be rude to him or anyone else. Now please go back to bed."

Brianna didn’t budge, so Madison gave her a frown designed to let her know there’d be serious consequences if she didn’t obey. Finally, she turned and walked resolutely down the hall.

"I’ll be there shortly to tuck you in," Madison called after her.

Johnny’s twitching seemed to grow more extreme. "You’re gonna have your hands full with that kid."

"Brianna’s usually very sweet. It’s just been lately, after I get her back from her father’s, that I’ve run into these attitude problems." Anxious for Johnny to leave, she handed him a can of Coke. "Sorry I don’t have any beer. I don’t drink it."

He accepted what she offered him. "You wrote me about your divorce," he said.

"I wasn’t sure you got that letter. You never answered it." He’d never answered any of her letters.

"I wanted to believe you were still living the good life." He said the words accusingly, as though she’d had some choice in the matter.