My Path To Serenity

Chapter seventeen

                                Sunday 7:10 am

The next morning was dreary due to the extreme weather conditions. The rain pattered on the glass windows as lightning struck the grey, cloudy, sky. It was dark, it was gloomy, and it was cold. It felt the same way on the inside of the house, too. Charlotte tied her apron to fit her waist as she eyed Tristian trudging down the staircase rubbing his eyes, noticeably hungover. Failing to say good morning, he headed to the refrigerator to pour some orange juice before sitting at the kitchen table. "Water is the best cure for a hangover." Charlotte told him, rolling her eyes. "I'll be fine." He waved his hand in the air. She headed for the front door. "Oliver should be getting up soon. You plan on taking him to day care?" "I can watch him." He said stern. "I'm capable of watching my son, you know." She furrowed her eyebrows and made a face. "Don't you work today?" He shook his head as he closed his eyes. "My head is throbbing. You got any Tylenol?" "Medicine cabinet. Second shelf," I answered, slapping a few pieces of bacon on the sizzling pan. The tension in the air was rising. "Oh great, grease will do me good," he sighed in relief. I rolled my eyes as Charlotte left and shut the door behind her. "This breakfast is for Oliver when he wakes up." He gulped down his glass of orange juice and didn't say a word. "I'm really sorry," he then apologized. "I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries." "It's just bacon dude, it's fine," I snorted. "No, uh, about last night." "Yeah, not cool. I think you owe every one in this house an apology." After a few minutes of pure silence, we heard Oliver fussing on the baby monitor. Tristian got up from his seat and staggered up the stairs to go calm him. In attempt to try and elevate my mood, I turned on the radio and listened to the talk show hosts discussing new recipes. When I was a little girl, my mother would tune to the food network station when she was cooking, and I'd help jot down some new recipes in her cook book. It was simpler times back then. Benjamin spent most of his days inside the house playing board games with me. It was something I looked forward to every day after school, even though he won every time. Dad still had his addiction for gambling and cigarettes, but it didn't seem as detrimental back then. Then again, maybe I was just young and nieve. I cracked an egg and whisked it in the mixing bowl, taking mental notes of the radio's lasagna recipe for tonight's potential dinner. I seen Oliver take baby steps down the staircase, and when he landed he instantly walked over to me, reaching his arms out for me to pick him up. He batted his eyes as he curiously looked over at the frying pan. I adjusted him on my hip and flipped the bacon and pancakes. "Did you have good dreams sweet boy?" He nodded and buried his head in my chest. All of the sudden, there were 3 loud knocks on the front door. Loud enough to startle me, that's for certain. I looked at Oliver and he looked at me clueless. I chuckled as I turned off the flame before setting him down. I walked over to the front door as the anticipation grew and my thoughts were racing. It was seven thirty am, who could it be? I dusted off my shirt covered in flour as I looked through the peep hole. A tall, African American man in a blue suit and brief case stood on my porch, looking to be in his mid thirties. I instantly was lead to believe he was at the wrong door, because what would a man with a brief case be doing here? I carefully unlocked the door and peaked my head out. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm Mr. O'Connor." I stood there, nodding, waiting for him to say more. "Uh, sorry," he let out a laugh. "Does Tristian Peters live in this residency?" I slowly nodded, hesitant and confused. He held out his hand with a sharp smile. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm officer O'Connor, Tristian's probation officer." My eyes widened as I opened the door fully, gesturing him to come inside. He set his brief case down on the table and looked around the house with his eyes. "Beautiful home you have." I smiled weary, and didn't say too much because I knew when Tristian was about to come down here he could potentially be in deep shit after drinking last night. "He's scheduled for his monthly check in. Mrs. Peters informed me he recently moved to a different location, which lead me here." He smiled brightly, "I don't mean to burden you," he looked over at the skillet on the stove and the baby in my hands. "But Mrs. Peters had advised me to stop by this morning." I put my finger on my chin, "she did?" He nodded, looking around for Tristian. "Can I get you some coffee?" I suggested, finishing Oliver's breakfast. Before I could hear his response, Tristian walked down the stairs and the two of them instantly locked eyes. He was thinking he was going to make breakfast, until he saw Mr. O'Connor. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "What are you doing here?" Tristian scratched his head as he sat down. "Good morning Mr. Peters," he greeted him. Tristian half smiled, still groggy and feeling drained from last night. "I have good news," he insisted. "If this drug test comes back clean, I'll put in a recommendation to the courts to get you off this whole probation thing." He pulled out a cup with a label on it and a pair of gloves. "I just need you to give me a urine sample and I'll be out your hair, hopefully forever." Tristian gulped as he grabbed the test with his shaky hands. "S-Sure.." he stuttered. "How did you know I moved here?" Mr. O'Connor pulled out a few files from his brief case and spoke, "your mother put in a call and ask that I come see you today." Tristian glanced down at the cup and then glanced back up at him with a fake smile. Mr. O'Connor narrowed his eyes to Tristian's panicked facial expression. "Yes sir." He picked up the test and headed upstairs to the bathroom with guilt lying on his conscience. Him being paranoid, he thought that he knew he drank. Tristian was nearly dying of agony by this point. Giving up his act, he came to his senses and quickly came back down stairs to the kitchen table with an empty cup. I looked over at him with Oliver attached to my hip, but his eyes never met mine. He just kept his focus on the polished, hardwood floor beneath his feet. "Excuse me," he chuckled. "This cup is empty." Mr. O'Connor expressed a puzzled look on his face. Tristian pulled out a chair and sat back down, facing not only his probation officer, but his fears as well. "I drank a little bit of alcohol last night," he confessed as he put his head down. "I got drunk. And for me to have you submit that test and wait a week for the results, would just be wasting both our time, wouldn't it?" Mr. O'Connor raised his eyebrows in shock as he straightened his back. Tristian bit his nails nervously as his probation officer wrote a few things down in his yellow note pad. "I appreciate your honesty," he said firm. "Unfortunately, you will no longer be recommended to have your probation terminated. Since you've already spent some time in protective custody at home, I can only wish you the best of luck with whatever the judge decides to do with you." Tristian gulped as his heart started to accelerate faster. You can see the fear written in his glazed, bewildered eyes. "Does this mean jail?" "Detention home, given you're only seventeen," Mr. O'Connor suggested. "Maybe if the judge is having a good day she'll recommend rehabilitation, or drug classes of some sort. I'm afraid this is out of my hands at this point, Mr. Peters." Tristian's jaw dropped wide open as he just stared blankly. "Well, could you like put in a good word for me at least? Tell them I've been trying, just had a slip up?" Mr. O'Connor disapprovingly frowned as he stood up from the kitchen table. "Come on, I was honest. That's got to count for something." He begged. "I'm afraid not," Mr. O'Connor slid him his business card. "Give a call whenever you feel like you want to relapse, Tristian. I can help attempt to talk you out of it. As of now it's out of my hands." Tristian snatched the business card out of his hands and snarled, "I'm not some addict like you think." That statement wasn't so much meant for Mr. O'Connor, it was more so meant for his own reassurance. He was talking himself out of the idea that he could need help, because he wasn't willing to face that. Tristian's always been that way, hard headed and closed minded to anything that didn't sound good to him. "Thank you for sparing my time," he finished as he headed out the door.

Tristian looked at me and gave me this look. "You called on me, didn't you?" I truly was confused, because as infuriated as I was with him, I didn't call. "Why and how would I call your probation officer? He said your mother called in," I infuriatingly replied. "Well, how does my mom know I drank?" I shrugged, handing Oliver over to him. "Don't know, dude." If he thought I was on his side with this, I certainly am not. I couldn't sleep at all last night after the argument that broke out between the four of us outside, but I still didn't call his mom or anyone on him to report him. "I have a meeting later with an adoption specialist, so the house will be all yours until six o'clock." I walked over to him a little closer. "I want to say I trust you here, but I don't." Tristian just stared at me. "Steal from our family again and you'll be thrown out of here," I fake smiled as I walked away.