Washed Up

Fetch

Ross

Fetch. [fech]. The area of sea surface where the wind generates ocean waves.

"Ross!" Ivy squeals at the top of her lungs as soon as I open the screen door to the house after my shift on the beach. A few seconds later, she rounds the corner to the foyer at breakneck speed and attacks me, clinging to my legs. "You're here! I've missed you so much!"

I ruffle her strawberry blonde curls and grin at her. "You know I have to work during the summer, Iv."

"Why can't you stay home with me?" she asks, hands on her hips and lips in a pout.

I understand her confusion. During the off-season, I stay home all day and watch the kids while Dad works construction. Then I work nights at the warehouse, loading trucks until I feel like my arms are going to fall off.

I squat down and pull the crazy little seven year old into my arms. "I know, it's not fair, but you like hanging out with Mrs. May, right?"

Dorothy May, our next door neighbor, with her backyard full of bird feeders and ever-present chocolate buckeyes, watches the kids during the summer months while Dad runs the bike-rental business and I work as a lifeguard. They come home every night with chocolate painted on their faces, hopping up and down like a family of Easter bunnies.

"She's not as cool as you."

Awesome. I'm cooler than a 70 year old granny. "Of course I am," I tease her, standing back up and heading into the kitchen.

Dad sits at the kitchen table, scarfing down a sandwich of cold cuts, lettuce, and tomato. He raises a burly arm to wave at me.

"Hey, Ross," he says between bites, mayonnaise leaking out the corner of his mouth. "How was work?"

"No one died, so it went fine," I grumble.

He rubs his hands on his sweat-stained flannel shirt. "Can you stay home tonight? I'm going to head down to the pub with the guys."

Of course you are. Of course I get to stay home with the kids while he goes out and gets drunk on a Friday night. I didn't sign up to be a second parent just because I'm the oldest by over ten years.

"I was going to hang out with Earnest and Javier tonight. They just got here."

Dad shoves his chair back and it squeaks against the old linoleum. "You have all summer to hang out with them, and I'll take the kids to the beach tomorrow."

I scowl, scratching at my blonde curls. "Where you'll leave with me to watch while I'm lifeguarding. Thanks, Dad."

"Ross, don't give me that," he says, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a bushy salt and pepper eyebrow. "You know we have to work together here. For the kids. For your mom."

I draw in a sharp breath, my chest aching. Of course he's going to pull her into this. He knows that he can always use guilt to get me to pick up the extra slack around here. The kids deserve someone steady and loving in their lives, and that's obviously not my father.

I push past Dad. "Fine, Dad. You have fun."

His eyes follow me as I leave the kitchen and climb the steep stairs to the second floor, my footsteps creaking on the old floorboards. The upstairs has three tiny closet-sized bedrooms, one for the boys, one for Ivy, and one for me. I used to sleep on the couch downstairs, but then Dad started drinking and never made it up the stairs. I can't blame him for drinking or for wanting to spend a night forgetting about his life, but I still wish I wasn't alone in this, that I wasn't the one keeping us all afloat.