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Bobby hadn’t held his children as they died.
He had watched as they were pulled from the burning building. He watched as they were covered in sheets. He had held Marcy’s bandaged hand and lied to her about her children being alive so she could die in peace. He had identified his children’s burned bodies and cried as they were buried, alongside their mother.
And then, halfway through a conversation with Buck, this kid, his kid, collapsed into his arms.
As Buck gasped for breath, Bobby caught him. As he coughed blood onto Bobby’s front, Bobby eased him to the floor. As he clutched desperately at Bobby’s arm, clearly terrified, Bobby cradled Buck’s head in his lap, holding him on his side so he couldn’t aspirate.
“Bobby?” Eddie appeared at Bobby’s side, ever attentive to Buck, and crouched beside them. “Hen! Chim!”
“Eddie?” Hen handed her glass of wine to her wife and came to see what was happening. She gasped as she surveyed the scene, sobering instantly, and started barking orders. She needed a medkit. She needed someone to phone 911 and put it on speakerphone so she could talk whilst working on Buck.
“I’ve got you, kid,” Bobby’s voice cracked as he stroked his hand soothingly down Buck’s back, the kid coughing and wheezing and clutching at his chest. “You’re gonna be OK. I’ve got you.” He cleared the lump in his throat and his hands shook. He’d lost so much in his life, he was not about to lose any more. Bobby was aware of people around him fussing, but could do nothing but fix his eyes on Buck.
There was blood on Buck’s hands, and on his shirt, and on the garden, and Bobby’s hand trembled as he used his sleeve to wipe blood from Buck’s chin. Tears pricked his eyes as Buck whimpered and grasped at Bobby’s sleeve, and flowed freely down his face as Buck looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes.
“I’ve got you, Buck,” Bobby sobbed again, unable to stop himself bending to press his forehead to his boy’s as he stroked a thumb gently over his cheek. “You’re gonna be OK.”
~
It had been the best summer of Christopher’s life. No Grandparents to tell him what to do, Dad was around whenever he wasn’t on shift, he got to sleep at Abuela’s and stay up super late, and he got to hang out with Buck. A lot.
It sucked that Buck had got hurt, but being able to hang out at his place and watch movies or play videogames all day was really cool. Christopher had missed the end of the school year, after everything with Mom, but Dad had been busy sorting out boring paperwork and making other arrangements, as well as going to work, so Buck had stepped in.
Buck always made Christopher feel better, and it was so cool that Buck had crutches like Chris’. To start off, Buck couldn’t move from the couch, and Christopher revelled in being the one to fetch things for once. He got sodas from the fridge, or books from Buck’s shelves for him to read, or he was even allowed to make them sandwiches.
Then Buck got really good on his crutches and they would race around the apartment – Chris won more often than not, and Buck wasn’t even letting him! – or Buck would understand Christopher’s complaints about sore hands or sore arms, and one time they had a pretend sword-fight, but Buck stopped it when he accidentally clipped Christopher around the face and knocked his glasses off. It hadn’t hurt, and the glasses hadn’t broken, and Buck had apologised, but he’d refused to play again.
When Buck’s cast had come off, they were able to go out exploring more, and Christopher loved it. They went to zoos, to aquariums, to attractions. They went swimming and to the beach and exploring the woods where the paths were flat enough. They went on picnics and to fast food places and to cafes and parks and anywhere they could think of. When Dad wasn’t at work, he would come along, too. Those were the best days.
Buck recertified as a firefighter and Christopher was pleased for him; of course he was. But Christopher was going to miss hanging out the two of them. He dutifully sat and made his friend a card, drawing their best day at the beach, and handed it over before running off to play with his friends in the garden as everyone else ate, drank, and hung out.
They were halfway through a lively game of Star Wars (Christopher was Luke, of course. Buck may not let him use his crutch as a sword, but Denny and Harry loved it as a lightsabre) when there was a shout from the patio, a crash, then some yelling. The boys exchanged glances before nosiness took over and they headed over.
Christopher wasn’t too worried; it was just that Buck had tripped, but his mouth was bloodied, and everyone was crowded around him. Hen and Chimney were kneeling beside him where he had fallen, but they weren’t patching him up. Dad was watching Buck, his face white.
“Dad, what’s going on?” Christopher asked, and Dad looked over for the first time.
“Chris, get inside.” He told him firmly, before turning his attention back to Buck. Bobby was kneeling on the patio, cradling Buck’s head in his arms as he lay on his side. Athena was arriving back to the group with a medkit, and Hen was treating him as Chimney spoke to 911 on speakerphone.
“But Dad-!” Christopher protested. Maybe Buck hadn’t just fallen. Maybe something was seriously wrong. Dad turned and glared at him. Christopher was surprised; Dad was never angry with him.
“Get. Inside.” He told him, firmly but not crossly, and put out a hand to stop Christopher getting any closer. Christopher glared at him, but reluctantly did so, traipsing indoors with Harry and Denny. But they hadn’t been told they couldn’t watch, so all three pressed themselves against the French windows of the living room to watch the commotion.
“Dude,” Denny nudged Harry. “I think your step-dad’s crying.”
“So’s your Mom,” Harry snapped back. “Who cares? Your dad cries, doesn’t he, Chris?” Christopher hardly heard, staring numbly out the window. Hen was taking Buck’s pulse. Bobby was stroking his fingers through Buck’s styled hair. Dad’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside their friend.
All Christopher could think of was his mom. Was this what it was like when she was dying? Was she surrounded by people fussing over her, or was it too late? Did she die in someone’s arms, or lying on the gurney? Did she cough up blood? Did anyone try and press on anything to stop the bleeding?
Dad had taken Christopher to see Mom at the funeral home before the funeral, so he could say goodbye. Part of Christopher wished he hadn’t; that hadn’t been his Mom. His mom had been warm and smiley and full of life. The person on the cold metal table in front of him had been still. Her eyes had been shut like she was asleep, but when he tried to hold her hand, her fingers were like ice. When he kissed her cheek goodbye, it was grey.
Would she be waiting for Buck? Would she greet him like a friend? Would she be cross with him, because, for a short few weeks, Christopher had been happy to be with him when he should have been mourning her? Would they watch over him together?
“Chris?” Denny prompted gently, and Christopher snapped back to the present. There were blue lights flooding the garden. The ambulance must have arrived.
“Huh?” Christopher suddenly realised he was being addressed, wiping his hands over his cheeks and finding them damp.
“Are you OK?” Denny asked quietly, and Christopher could do nothing but shrug a shoulder. How could he answer that? “He’ll be OK, Chris. Mama’s got him.”
The three of them watched in silence as the paramedics arrived. They didn’t say anything as Buck, Hen and Bobby were loaded into the ambulance. No-one moved as the ambulance pulled off.
“Boys?” A pale Athena appeared in the doorway to the living room and turned the light on, bathing the room in a warm yellow glow. “Are you doing OK in here?” She headed to her son and smoothed his hair back from his face to peer into his eyes. Karen arrived and swept Denny into a hug, and all Christopher could think of was the fact his mother would never hug him again, and he didn’t know if Buck would, either.
“Christopher?” Dad appeared, his hands still bloody, and Christopher threw himself into his father’s arms.
“Dad!” He sobbed, burying his face in his father’s front and pouring all his fear and grief into his tears. “Dad, this is all my fault!”
“Your fault?” Dad asked, surprised, sinking to his knees and allowing Christopher’s to buckle, guiding him down to perch in his lap. Dad held Christopher’s head to his chest and rocked him gently, running his fingers through Christopher’s curls but not pressuring him to talk.
“I- I didn’t- I didn’t want him to go back to work!” Christopher bawled, clinging to Dad’s shirt with both hands and pressing himself into Dad’s neck.
“It’s not your fault,” Dad told him gently, rubbing Christopher’s back and stroking his hair. “I promise.” He kissed Christopher’s head; firm, earnest and sincere, rather than his usual loud, playful ‘mwah’. Christopher sniffled and opened his mouth to ask if Buck was going to be alright, if they could go and see him, if he could get him something to cheer him up, but all that came out of his mouth was:
“I want Mommy.”
“Oh, Buddy,” Dad squeezed him tighter and his voice sounded like he was struggling to get words out. He stood with Christopher in his arms and even though Christopher was getting too old for this – he was nearly eight! – all he could do was wrap his legs around his dad’s waist and hold on tight. “Buck’s in the best hands, I promise.” He rubbed his big, warm hand up and down Chris’ back and round and round in circles like he had done when Chris was a baby and, despite himself, he felt himself calming down and his tears starting to slow. He rested his head on Dad’s shoulder, his arms around his neck. “They’ll be getting to the hospital any minute now, and Bobby will phone with news as soon as they get any.”
“We have to go see him,” Christopher sniffled into Dad’s neck, and he felt Dad press a reassuring kiss into his hair. Dad always knew how to make him feel safe. “And take him candy. Like when he broke his leg.”
“Of course, Bud,” Dad soothed, squeezing Christopher as he wandered out the room for some privacy.
“What happened to him?” Christopher raised his head to look Dad in the face, and Dad’s eyes were soft and sad.
“I don’t know,” his voice cracked, like he was going to cry, and that made Christopher’s lip wobble again. If Dad was crying, it must be serious. “How much did you see?”
“I- I looked over and he was on the floor,” Christopher’s voice shook, but he could be brave. If Dad could be brave, so could Christopher. “I thought he’d just tripped, but he didn’t get back up, and you said to go inside, and everyone was scared, and Bobby was crying, Dad.”
“I know,” Dad whispered into Christopher’s hair and Christopher could feel tears on his scalp. “Bobby’s like- he loves Buck so much. I think he was really scared, too.”
“Eddie?” Athena appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a weak smile on her weary face and her phone in a death-grip in her hand. “Bobby’s called. They’ve taken Buck for tests.”
~
Buck was only in hospital for two weeks, but it felt like a lifetime. Christopher begged Dad, or Abuela, or Carla to go and see Buck every day, and he would spend the day sitting on Buck’s bed with him, reading or playing board games or napping, tucked into the crook of Buck’s elbow, his head against Buck’s collarbone. They’d take walks around the ward, or the hospital grounds, and chatter together in a way that made Dad smile. Christopher loved his time with Dad and Buck, always eager to scramble out of bed and get ready to go hang out again.
At night, Christopher dreamed. It would be night in Bobby and Athena’s garden; all the lights would flicker out. Buck would turn to Christopher, blood pouring from his mouth, eyes, nose and ears, and he would beg him for help. Christopher would be helpless, unable to move, unable to do anything but watch as Buck gasped and wheezed and collapsed in front of him. Christopher was never able to save him.
Sometimes, he was crossing the road when a car hit Buck. Christopher would run to him and kneel beside him, only for it to be Mom, looking up at him with wide eyes, and blood on her face. No matter what Christopher did, how much he begged her to stay, to hold on until help came, Mom died in his arms.
Sometimes Christopher would jolt awake with a yell, and Dad would come running, and hold him in his arms as he begged for Mom like he was a baby again.
“Please, Daddy!” He would sob, holding tight to his father as if he would disappear, too. “Please, Daddy! I want Mommy. I want Mommy!” Dad would stay until Christopher calmed down, or would carry him as he cried, back into Dad’s bed, and Christopher would doze back off in his arms.
Sometimes Christopher would wake and stare at the ceiling for hours, desperately trying to think of anything other than his dead mother, or Buck collapsed on the patio, or coughing up blood, until he curled up in a tight ball and cried himself back to sleep.
When Buck was discharged from hospital, Christopher was excited for a repeat of the summer, but Buck explained to him he was waiting for a meeting with Bobby’s boss, then going back to work.
Buck never went back to work, but Christopher and Dad went round for dinner most nights. Buck wasn’t quite the same; he was quiet and he was grumpy. Not grumpy at Christopher – he never had anything bad to say to him, or any sort of attitude talking to him, but he and Dad would snipe and snap at each other if they thought Christopher wasn’t listening. More often than not, Dad would announce it was time to leave straight after dinner, despite the fact that usually they hung out with Buck until bedtime.
Then one day, when Carla was on vacation in Cabazon, Dad woke Christopher up with a knock to his bedroom door as usual, and a big smile on his face. Christopher, who had finally slept through the night, so was in the best mood he’d been in for weeks, beamed back at him. Dad was holding Christopher’s rucksack, Chris’ favourite yellow striped shirt was over his arm fresh from the dryer, and there was a glint of excitement in his eyes that Christopher could see, even before he’d reached for his glasses. It could only mean one thing. Christopher felt a wave of excitement flood over him.
“Hey, Buddy. You're hanging out with your Buck today!”