Saving Tatum (Trace + Olivia #4) (41 page)

I turned, glaring at her passed out form. Every single day of my life it was the same routine. I was always talking to the equivalent of a corpse. She was here in body, and that was it. Even when she was awake she was drunk. 

“Row! Row!” I dropped my bags down as my little siblings came running at me.

“Hey,” I opened my arms wide, hugging them tightly. They were the only two things in this world that kept me going. “How was school?” I asked them, smoothing my fingers through Ivy’s light brown hair and then ruffling Tristan’s.

“It was okay,” Ivy’s pale pink lips turned down in a frown.

“I got a gold star,” Tristan pointed proudly to the sticker adorning his chest.

“Awesome!” I gave him a high five. “What did you do to get that?” I tickled his stomach lightly, making him giggle.

“I got an A on my spelling test!”

“Well, Tristan,” I hugged him again, inhaling the scent of his shampoo, “you’re the smartest kindergartener I know. Have you guys eaten?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

They shook their heads no and I sighed in disgust. If my mom didn’t have me…I feared what would happen to Ivy and Tristan.

“Come on then,” I stood taking each of their hands. “I’ll make us dinner. You guys can help me.”

“I like helping,” Tristan beamed up at me. His smile always managed to break my heart.

“I know you do,” I lifted him onto the counter and then did the same with Ivy. She was only three years older than Tristan, and getting a bit too big for me to be lifting her, but I didn’t mind. Most days, I felt more like their mother than their sister. I fed them. I bathed them. I packed their lunches. I looked after them. I
loved
them. It was more than my mom had ever done for them or me.

There wasn’t much food in the house so our options for dinner were limited.

“How’s macaroni sound?” I pulled out a box of Spongebob shaped noodles and shook the box.

“Yay!” They cheered. I was lucky that they were such easy to please kids.

I put water on to boil and crossed my arms over my chest as I leaned against the counter. “Who’s going to pour the macaroni into the pot?” I asked.

Tristan enthusiastically raised his hand.

“It’s Tristan’s turn,” Ivy agreed with a sad shake of her head. “I did it last time.”

“That’s nice of you, Ivy,” I smiled at the little girl. “You can stir the cheese in. Would you like that?”

She brightened, smiling widely. Several of her baby teeth had fallen out, making her adorably awkward looking. “I’m a good stirrer.”

“Yes, you are,” I leaned over, kissing the top of her head.

“Row! Row! The water!” Tristan pointed enthusiastically at the water beginning to boil.

I opened the box of macaroni and removed the packet of powdered cheese. I handed him the box and lifted him onto my hip so he could pour the noodles into the water.

He watched in fascination as the bubbles hid the noodles from sight.

“How long till it’s ready? I’m hungry,” he pouted as I sat him back on the counter.

“Not long,” I assured him. “We’ll eat and then I’ll give you a bath and you can take a shower, Ivy.”

“I don’t want to,” Tristan groaned. “Baths suck.”

“You don’t want to be dirty, do you?” I tweaked his nose.

“I’d rather be dirty than wet,” he grumbled, crossing his small arms over his chest. His too small shirt rode up, exposing his stomach. I was going to have to start picking up some new clothes for him whenever I had some extra money.

“Stop whining, Tristan. You know it doesn’t work with me,” I warned him with a steely gaze.

His arms lowered and he let out a pent up breath. “Fine. Will you read me a story tonight?”

“Don’t I read you a story every night?” I countered with a raised brow.

“Yeah, but sometimes you fall asleep,” he giggled.

“Sorry about that,” I hung my head shamefully. I tried my best to be a parent for my siblings, but it was hard. I had school and work. When I got home it was late and I was exhausted. I wished I could afford for a babysitter to watch them, but I didn’t have the money…not if I wanted to buy food. I already had to pay for Tristan to stay in after school care since he was only there for half a day. My stepfather was just as bad, if not worse than my mom. He didn’t drink, but he constantly smoked in the house, had a lousy job, and was just plain creepy.

“It’s okay, Row,” Tristan opened his arms for a hug.

I held him close. It amazed me that two kids that had
nothing
could be as sweet as Tristan and Ivy.

I let him go and stirred the macaroni. When it was done, I strained it and put it in a bowl. I dumped the ingredients in the bowl and handed Ivy a spoon. “Stir, sweetie.”

She mixed it as thoroughly as she could, but in the end I had to help her.

“Ivy, why don’t you get the plates?” I nodded my head at the cabinet that housed them.

“Sure,” she smiled, eager to please me.

She grabbed three plates, hopped off the counter, and scurried over to the card table that served as our only eating surface.

I helped Tristan down and carried the pot over to the table where I loaded our plates with macaroni.

“Wash your hands before you eat,” I warned them.

With heads bowed, they did as I said. I cleaned the pot and washed my hands before joining them at the table.

“It’s good, Row,” Tristan smiled at me with trusting eyes. It broke my heart every time I saw that look in his eyes. He and Ivy trusted me completely…to love them…to protect them…but how could I ever do those things when I wasn’t a whole person? I was shattered…broken…unimportant.

“Thanks, Tristan,” I ruffled his hair, hoping the innocent little boy couldn’t see the darkness inside me.

“You’re the best sister,” he leaned into my touch, like a dog begging to be petted.

“Hardly,” I laughed.

They helped me wash the dishes and then it was time to give Tristan his bath. After a lot of grumbling I finally got him into the warm water. I
really
wished I’d had time to change my clothes. Giving Tristan a bath in a pencil skirt wasn’t practical. Damn Trenton Wentworth.

I let Tristan splash around for a few minutes before I washed and shampooed his hair.

“Pull the drain plug,” I pointed to the stopper. He pulled it and the water began to whoosh out.

He stood and I helped him out. I wrapped a towel around his small frame, drying his body, and then his hair so it stuck up around his head like a bird’s feathers.

I led him down the hall to the room he shared with Ivy.

Ivy was reclined on her bed, playing with her dolls. “Shower, Ivy.”

“I wanna play,” she whined.

“Ivy. Shower. Now.” I snapped. “I’m tired and I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”

“Fine,” she slipped out of the bed, grabbing pajamas to take with her to the bathroom.

“Hurry back and I’ll read you both a story,” I said in a softer tone. I hated snapping at the kids, knowing they got enough of that from our mom—on the rare occasions she was awake—and step-dad.

“Okay,” I heard her say as the bathroom door closed.

I grabbed the lotion and rubbed it into Tristan’s body. “Which pajamas do you want to wear?”

“The dinosaurs!”

I shook my head. I should’ve known.

I pulled out the pajamas with different colored dinosaurs on them. “Lift your arms,” I instructed.

Once he was in his pajamas, he climbed into his bed.

“Which story do you want tonight? It’s your turn to pick,” I rubbed my eyes.

“Um…” He thought, placing a small finger against his lips. “The Lion King!”

I grabbed the Disney book and climbed into his bed, leaving room for Ivy on my other side.

She came into the room a few minutes later.

“Ivy,” I groaned at the wet stringy pieces of hair framing her face. “You didn’t brush your hair!”

“But it hurts!” She argued.

I sighed, slipping out of the bed even though it felt so good to rest my tired body. I grabbed the detangler and a comb from the bathroom.

Sitting down on the floor of the bedroom, I motioned with my hand for Ivy to sit in front of me.

After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly took the spot.

“You have to brush your hair or it will only get more knotted,” I told her, spraying her damp hair with the detangling solution. “I hate brushing my hair too,” I worked the comb through the ends.

“You do?” She sounded surprised. “But your hair is so pretty and long, Row.”

“I like it long,” I shrugged, trying not to pull her hair, “but brushing it is a pain.”

“Ow!” She grabbed her head when I brushed through a knotted strand.

“Sorry,” I told her, kissing the spot in apology. “Better now?”

“A little.”

“There,” I patted her back when I was done. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly.

I returned the comb and detangler to their spots in the bathroom, before climbing back into the bed to read their story.

When I finished reading the story, Tristan looked up at me with wide eyes and Ivy snuggled closer to my side.

“Row,” Tristan started, “I wish you were my mommy.”

His words turned my stomach inside out. Both he and Ivy deserved better than my deadbeat mom, but they also deserved more than me.

“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Because,” he shrugged his small shoulders, “you do everything for me.”

Even at five years old, Tristan was aware that our mother did nothing. It broke my heart that he and Ivy had to grow up with this. But I had too, and I didn’t have anyone to look after me. That’s why I did what I could for them.

“I love you, Tristan,” I kissed his forehead. “Love you, Ivy,” I kissed hers as well. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Row,” Ivy scurried over to her bed on the other side of the room.

I hugged Tristan and I slipped out of the bed. I hugged Ivy too and closed their bedroom door behind me.

I leaned my head against the closed door. I was so exhausted, but I needed to shower and I had homework to finish since I hadn’t done it at the library. Trent had ruined my whole evening. Why couldn’t he leave me alone?

Choosing not to waste my energy dwelling on it, I pushed myself forward and into my room. It wasn’t much of a room to be honest. It was more like a closet. My full size bed took up most of the space and the closet door was always open because it was impossible to close it. The walls were painted a bright aqua blue and the bedspread was purple. It was nothing special, but it was
mine
and that’s what mattered to me. I grabbed a pair of loose sweatpants and a sleep shirt.

I showered as quickly as I could, but took more time than I meant to because the hot water felt so good on my tense muscles. I never seemed to relax.

Before I headed into my room for the night I checked on my mom. She was still passed out on the couch. I hated her so much, but she was my mom, and nothing could change that. I watched her for a few minutes, noticing the steady rise and fall of her chest. I wondered how someone that drank so much was able to breathe like a normal person. It seemed like her breaths should falter or something. I wanted to yell and scream at her to get off her lazy ass and be a mom. But I knew that was pointless. I’d yelled and screamed at her more times than I could count and it never did any good. It usually resulted in me getting slapped in the face.

With a scowl, I pushed myself away from the wall.

I closed my bedroom door, locking it behind me.

I slipped beneath the covers, glaring at the textbook laying on the bed.

I wanted to put off my homework till tomorrow, but it would only bug me and result in even more lost sleep.

I pulled the textbook onto my lap and began to read the assigned pages.

Thirty minutes later, when I finished reading, I had to write a short essay to summarize what I’d read. Honestly, you’d think professors would have better things to do than grade stupid papers like this.

We were supposed to type this, but I didn’t have a computer, so I had to hand write it. I always did my typed assignments at the library before I went home. Hopefully I’d have time to type this up tomorrow, but tomorrow also meant even more homework. It was a vicious cycle.

Once the short paper was written, I tucked it into the pages of the book and dropped the book beside my bed on the thin strip of floor that served as the walking space in my room.

I reached over and turned the light off, bathing the room in darkness.

I lay in bed, unable to go to sleep even though I was exhausted.

I heard the front door slam closed and jumped.

My step-dad Jim was home.

I hated Jim with every fiber of my being, maybe even more than I hated my mom.