In An Instant, Ch. 24

Freedom was a good thing.

At least, that was what Dean tried to tell himself.

Three weeks after Beth left, some punk drove up to the repair shop in a beat-up Pinto. The guy was totally black and white—his face powdered, his hair inked black, his features painted with grayish lipstick and eye shadow. Every inch of his body was covered in jet black, from the stiff high collar to the silver-studded knee-high boots. If he’d had a cape, he’d have been a vampire. A vampire who hovered over his wreck of a car like it was a Porsche, and wouldn’t let them take it back into the work area.

A vampire driving a Pinto. It was just the kind of story that would have made Beth laugh. When Greg finally managed to convince Vampire Boy to go for coffee while they changed his oil, Dean pulled out his cell phone. He dialed eight numbers before he remembered that Beth wasn’t interested in talking to him.

If nothing else, he was better prepared for being dumped this time. He didn’t go to pieces. And it was nice to have final say over the TV again—to stay up late watching football or hockey or even WWE without Beth rolling her eyes. To be able to work as late as he wanted. To notice women without sneaking a glance to make sure Beth hadn’t noticed.

He was better off without her. She hadn’t even bothered to ask his opinion about packing up and moving to St. Louis. That ought to tell him where he ranked on her priority list. Better to find out now than later. Why had he been in such a blasted hurry to jump on the girlfriend-with-a-kid bandwagon, anyway? He had enough to worry about. Jayce, Caleb, Mom—his family was commitment enough for anyone. Maybe that was why he’d liked Jen so much. She was wild and crazy, nothing but fun, and she’d never asked for a commitment.

The trouble was, he was built for commitment.

It all came back to Jen. It was after Jen showed up at Beth’s concerto that things had gone so wrong. It must be his fault. If he hadn’t been so stuck on Jen, Beth might never have left.

The hell of it was, all of a sudden, the thought of Jen was flat and uninteresting. Conjuring the image of her face—or any other part of her—no longer sent his stomach into roller coaster turns. Partying no longer held any attraction. He couldn’t figure out why he’d ever been so fixated on her.

Life had never seemed so empty as it did now that Beth and Toby were gone. Used to be, he’d run over for an hour in the evening, wrestle with Toby, read him bedtime stories. Talk over the day with Beth, even if he was too scared to touch her lately. Something about just hearing her in the next room, humming while she dried the dishes, something about seeing her smile, had made life richer.

Damn it, why couldn’t he let go of her? The more he tried to get clear of it, the greater the emptiness seemed to grow, expanding inside his chest till he ached with it. And he couldn’t shake the conviction that her leaving had less to do with how she felt about him, and more to do with her being scared shitless of… something.

Between fretting about Mom and wondering what Beth was so scared of, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace in weeks. The two emotions twisted together and fed off each other. Why couldn’t he let it go? Life with Beth had been give, give, give. What had he ever gotten in return?

He launched himself from the desk in his office behind the repair bays and went to check on his employees. Not that they needed him hovering. But he was restless, afraid to stop moving for a minute, for fear that the aching emptiness inside his chest would open up and swallow him whole.

He left the shop on Monday night, itching to go somewhere and do something. But, having nowhere else to go, he went home. For a wonder, Mom was in the kitchen, humming as she worked, with what looked like every pot and pan she owned spread out around her. “Hi, Jasper,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “Just a few minutes and I’ll have supper ready. Go wash up and check on the boys, will you? They’re being awful quiet. I don’t trust it.”

Dean smiled and nodded. He didn’t think he could speak.

He was only half dressed when the smoke detector went off. Dean took the stairs three at a time and crashed into the kitchen to find his mother cowering in the corner, whimpering in terror, her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut. Smoke and flames billowed from a skillet full of oil, and the pungent odor of charred potatoes emanated from the stainless pot beside it. Dean didn’t know where to start. “It’s okay, Mom, it’s okay!” he shouted, but as much as he wanted to comfort her, the fire was most important. He threw open the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out the fire extinguisher. He had to read the directions, which, between Mom shrieking and the ear-splitting pulse of the smoke detectors, took some doing. A burst of white powder extinguished the flaming skillet. He dropped the canister, grabbed the skillet and pot and headed for the side door, where he slung the whole mess out over the snowy side yard. Then he ran around the house opening windows.

Later that night, after a Pizza Hut run, after the smoke smell had eased and the furnace had caught up with the Iowa late winter, he put his mother to bed. It took half an hour to get her into her nightgown and through her nightly routine. At long last, Dean sat on the bed beside her, stroking the gray locks of hair. He wondered what was going on behind those closed eyes. What did she see as she drifted off to sleep these days?

“Sing me a song, Dean,” she murmured. “One of yours. The lullaby.”

He couldn’t believe she remembered that. He’d started it for Toby just before Christmas, as a surprise for Beth, but he’d never finished it. “Sure, Mom,” he said softly, and began to sing. There wasn’t much to it. A few lines of text, a little longer melody. He hummed for a minute or two more, wanting to be sure she was asleep before he left. Just as he let his voice trail off, her eyes popped open. “What happened to that pretty girl and that cute little boy? The ones that used to come over for lunch.”

And then it hit him. Beth had given him something—something huge. She’d given him peace of mind. She’d been over here two, three times a week, these last few months. Having lunch with Mom, dropping off groceries, running her to Bingo and hair appointments. Until this moment, it had never occurred to him that knowing Beth was keeping an eye on his mother had made his life easier. A lot easier.

“Dean?” she said again. “Why’d they stop coming? They haven’t been over in a while.” Uncertainty flickered across her face. “Have they?”

“No, Mom, they haven’t.” His voice was husky; he swallowed hard.

“That’s too bad,” she said. “She was a pretty little thing, and that boy…” She smiled. “Little slice of Heaven on earth, that boy. So different from that Jen you used to bring around.” Her eyes returned to him. “So why haven’t we seen them?”

“She… she just moved away.”

Her eyebrows rushed together, narrowing her gaze to a laser beam. Used to be, that look could make him squirm something awful. Just because he was grown up didn’t change a thing. “And you let her go?” she demanded.

In spite of himself, Dean chuckled. “Mom, it’s not the Middle Ages. What was I supposed to do, tie her up?”

“Did you try and talk her out of it?”

The question caught him off guard. “Huh?”

His mother’s eyebrows rose into the furrows above them. “Guess not.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. It had never occurred to him to try to talk her out of it; the shock of her going had hit him so hard. “If she’s not committed, nothing I say’s gonna make any difference, Mom,” he said in a low voice. “It takes two.”

“Ah.” Her face split into a satisfied smile. “You’re finally learning.” With a long sigh, she closed her eyes, turned her head to the side, and was instantly asleep.

Dean sat silently for several long moments. Then he roused himself. “Night, Mom,” he said softly.

He returned to the bright kitchen, where the vent fan continued to strain against the lingering odor of smoke. Wearily, he set about scrubbing the mess of scorched counters and sticky pans. Man, he needed somebody to talk to. Somebody to sympathize with him, somebody to help him.

In other words, Beth. Damn it.

It took fifteen minutes of scrubbing to clean the stainless steel pot. He didn’t even bother with the Teflon-coated skillet. As he forced it down into the trash can, the smell of rotting chicken rose from the depths and merged with the smoke. His stomach lurched; his eyes began stinging. Groaning, he yanked the bag out, tied it shut, and held it at arm’s length as he carried it outside and down the porch steps to the trash bin.

It was blessedly dark and quiet outside, and the chill air eased the rumbling in his belly—until he pulled the lid off the trash bin, and the putrid remains of months’ worth of garbage rushed out at him. He almost hurled. Slitting his eyes against the rolling nausea, he rolled the bin toward the deserted street.

Then he collided with something solid. He leaped backward and flung his hands into a defensive position before he realized that whoever it was had toppled to the ground. He peered through the gloom at the figure that lay prostrate in the spotty snow, giggling uncontrollably. “Jayce?” he said.

“Dude, you tackled me.”

Dean extended a hand and dragged his brother to his feet. Jason staggered. Dean grabbed his other elbow and frowned, then dragged him into the light. The whites of his eyes were blood red, and his fair hair stuck out in all directions. His unzipped jacket hung open, revealing flannel pajamas patterned with garish Christmas lights. On one foot he wore a rubber-soled slipper. The other was bare. Jason reeked of alcohol and body odor and something else, faintly sweet, that Dean couldn’t identify. “Jayce, are you okay?” he asked.

Jason giggled. “Naw, man, I’m starvin’. I got the munchies. You got somethin’ to eat?”

Dean let go of him. “Jayce, I’ve tried to call you like five times tonight. Where the hell you been?”

“In the clouds, man, in the clouds.”

Dean punched him in the arm. “Knock it off. I’m serious.”

A furrow appeared between the bloodshot eyes. “Umm…. y’know, I don’ remember.” Then he doubled over giggling again. “Ain’t that something? I got no idea!”

Dean gritted his teeth. “I guess it’s no use asking what the hell you’re doing here, then.”

To his surprise, the giggles morphed into sobs. Jason keeled over; Dean had to grab him under the arms again to keep him on his feet. The stream of gibberish was almost unintelligible—all he caught was “Wanda” and “out.” It was like trying to understand Toby when he was crying. That thought brought its own pang. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Get a grip.” Suddenly the smell registered. Oh. Weed. Half the damn country had legalized it, but here it could still land his brother in jail. Like Dean needed any more to deal with.

Jason collapsed in the snow in his lurid pajamas and began wailing. Dean pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and counted to ten, then twenty, then fifty. He was afraid if he made any move toward his brother, it would be to belt him.

At last, his brother took a few gasps and muttered at the ground, “I got nowhere else to go, man.” He pulled off a dark, wet blade of grass, apparently oblivious to the frigid water seeping into his clothing. “Mandy couldn’t wake me, so she called her mom. Wanda threw me out.”

“Because you were stoned?”

Jason hung his head and covered his face, and Dean winced. Way to kick a dog when he’s down. But man, of all days… He just wasn’t sure he could handle anybody else’s problems today.

Jason was shivering. Sighing, Dean crouched beside him. “What do you need?” he asked quietly.

Jason looked up. “I need a place to stay,” he said. “She said… she said she’d never let me see the kids again.” His face twisted, but thank God, he didn’t start crying again. “I gotta get my shit together, Dean. I already lost Wanda. I can’t lose the kids, too. I just can’t.”

The swell of pity surprised him. It had been so long since Dean felt anything but anger and frustration toward his older brother that the surge of sympathy was disorienting. He thought for a minute. He couldn’t have Jason in the house. He couldn’t deal with both of them, not for the long term. Mom was responsibility enough. But there was a bare little room at the back of the auto shop, full of overflow parts. Room enough for a cot and a dresser.

He took his brother by the elbows again. “All right,” he said. “For tonight. Tomorrow we’ll figure something else out. For tonight, you can stay.”

He managed, somehow, to guide Jason into the house and up the stairs without waking Mom. In the confines of the second bedroom, which Dean and his brother had shared as children, his brother’s reek magnified. Jayce passed out two minutes after his head touched the pillow.

Dean took a long, hot shower and then wrapped up in Dad’s old terrycloth robe and slippers. On the way downstairs he grabbed a couple of blankets and pillows to make the night in the recliner a little more comfortable.

It helped, somehow, to sit in the big poofy chair where Jasper Townsend had held court from the time Dean was sixteen until he went into the hospital for the last time. It felt like a barrier against the bad vibes floating around upstairs. He flipped the TV on, but he couldn’t focus on anything. After rounding the channels for the third time, he turned it off in disgust. The silence squashed him. He flipped the stereo on and hit the preset for the classical station. He leaned back in the chair as the cool tones washed over him, missing Beth so much it hurt.

For the next chapter, click here.

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In an Instant, Copyright 2026 Kathleen M. Basi. No part of this may be reprinted, or used to train AI, without written permission. Sharing this post, however? That, the author wholeheartedly approves of.

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