A Pirate's Life For Me

Epilogue - I'll Always Be Waiting

PETER

"Aiden! Peter!" A voice called from upstairs. 

Peter sighed, reluctantly putting down his pen. Aiden cast a skeptical glance at the paper strewn around him before rolling his eyes and leaving their room.

"Coming, Mom!"

Peter pushed his chair back, pausing to write one last word before standing to follow his brother. 

Ms. Barnes -- No, mom. He kept forgetting they called her that now -- stood at the top of the staircase, a small, tired smile playing across her lips. "I just wanted to let you know," She said, the creases in her forehead deepening. "That, um, Bailey, she dropped by --"

"She did?" Aiden's voice lit up on the first syllable but immediately fell on the second. "She didn't want to see us?"

Peter studied his brother's face for a moment. With every year, he reminded him more of his real mother. His hair grew lighter, as did his skin as he spent more and more time indoors. Ms. Barnes was always concerned about his health and never let him out on his own, lest he break a bone because of his OI or go into anaphylactic shock because of his bee sting allergy, or have heart failure in the middle of the street because of one of his problems . . . There were so many bad things that could happen. At fourteen, of course, he wanted his freedom, but he also understood where they were coming from.

Peter, however, didn't look like his mother.

If anything he thought he looked like his father. Though, like Aiden, his hair grew lighter, it remained a rich brown like his dad's had been. His eyes had begun to change colors, from hazel to green and sometimes a stormy blue. At twelve, he was starting to see his face take the shape his father's had. Straight jawline, thin mouth, dimples. After years of poring over family photo albums, he recognized the resemblance easily. 

"It -- it was late," Mrs. -- Mom, mom explained. "We didn't want to wake you two."

"I'm not five--" Peter argued. "I can handle being up past eight."

She sighed, looking sad and old as ever. "You understand, don't you? It's hard for her. It's hard for me, too. And I know it's hard for you."

"But just because something's hard doesn't mean you don't do it," Aiden remarked, playing with a piece of his gold hair. "I would know. I get up every morning knowing that going to school could mean cracking a rib and puncturing my lungs. But I do it. Every day. Just because you guys think it's 'hard' to have her see us doesn't mean that it shouldn't happen."

This was met with a long silence from Ms. Barns. Peter could practically see her hair graying. Over the past few weeks, he'd noticed her makeup getting thicker and her hair growing thinner.

"You'll understand when you're older," She finally said. Aiden looked disgusted by this reply, but she made a point not to look at him. "Anyway, she left something for each of you--"

"Does she really think she can just buy our love?" Peter spat. "It's too late for that." 

Whereas Aiden was ready and willing to forgive his mother if given the chance, Peter was not. 

Aiden was not the one she said ruined her life. Aiden was not the one she hit. Aiden was not the one who attended his aunt's funeral alone because she was too cowardly to go.

"She--" Ms. Barns cut herself off. "You'll see. There's a box downstairs." With one more sigh and not another word, she turned on heel back to her bedroom. 

Peter and Aiden exchanged a look. Without speaking, Aiden carefully made his way back down the steps, Peter following tentatively behind him. He replayed in his head the time that he'd accidentally run into his brother on the stairs and sent him down on his back, fracturing his spine and temporarily paralyzing him.

"Peter?" 

Aiden's voice jolted him from his recollection.  "Yea?"

"I know," He began. "I know you're still mad at . . . Mom, and you have every right to be, but don't you think it's time to move on? We're here now, and--"

"Do you think I'm happy about being here?" He growled. 

Aiden sighed, glancing up the stairs like he was making sure that Ms. Barnes wasn't listening. "It's your fault that we're here, anyway."

His brother's words felt like a stab to the chest Instead of retorting, though, he shot his brother a glare and ran to the foyer.

He knew Aiden was right, but that didn't make the truth hurt any less. Yes, he'd allowed the lawyer to put him on the stand. Yes, he'd told the judge he didn't want to go back. Yes, essentially this entire situation was his fault. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

Peter saw the boxes when he entered the entry way. They were cardboard, nothing fancy, but they made his skin crawl because his name was penned on one, in her handwriting.

Silently, he took the box and picked it up. It was heavy, about the weight of a bible. He debated for a second, and then opened the door to the backyard.

His special place was, in most eyes was nothing special. To him, however, it was beautiful. The secluded thicket was fenced by rose bushes, the thorny kind, protecting his hideout--Only he knew the little flap he'd cut in the thick bush that acted as a door of sorts. 

He grabbed the tall stick he kept propped next to the tree and pried the door open.

Inside--if you could call it that--was nothing special. It was a small circle of dirt surrounded by trees and another small thicket that separated his haunt from the neighbor's yard. The ground was decorated in words, carved into the dirt with pointy sticks he found around the yard.

Peter sat down in the middle of the circle, pulling the box up next to him. He took a moment to try to guess what it was. A book? Maybe a notebook...or a board game or something. A few boxes of colored pencils could be about that weight. But then again, his mom probably didn't know about his passion for drawing.

Finally, he just decided to open the box.

He was surprised and a little confused by what he saw inside. It was an answering machine, of all things.

Why would his mother leave him an answering machine? It was a bit of an odd gift. Intrigued, Peter lifted the small object out of the box.

Had she left him a message to listen to? Was she going to apologize again? Beg for forgiveness? If that was it, Peter hardly wanted to listen.

But then again, what if that wasn't it?

He sighed, deciding he had nothing to loose. He pressed the button with a slight eye roll. 

"H-hey." The moment the voice reached his ears, Peter slammed his fist down on the button again, breathing hard. What in the world?

He took a deep breath. He could do this.

He pushed the button and let the message play through.

"H-hey. It's Aunty Olive. I, um, I know that no one's home . . . that's okay. When you get home we can listen to this together. Would you do that for me, Peter? It might make me feel a bit better.

"Anyways, I was just calling to say that you're going to be fine, alright? I have no idea what's happening to you right now, and I know you must be terrified. But I'm coming, okay? I'm going to save you.

"I'm so sorry about all of this, baby. I know, this might ruin our lives and it's my fault. But I hope-I hope you understand, Peter. I love you, I would have given up everything I had for you in an instant, but I -- but I wasn't given that choice, baby, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I wish -- I wish . . . I don't know what I wish, Peter. I wish that I could believe that we will listen to this together one day, I wish I did.

But I'm coming, baby, I'm coming. Please, please don't blame me, I'm so sorry -- I love you, okay? I love you so much. I just want you back. So I'll see you soon. Whether it's here, or it's far away.

"I'll always be waiting for you. I'll see you soon, baby."