It's Saturday, and Gwen is picking me up at nine to take me to the party, which is the last thing I want to do tonight. Dad came home today. I saw him for a grand total of thirty minutes when he called me and Seth down for dinner. I'm surprised there wasn't a photographer present, capturing pictures of his "perfect" family for campaign commercials. He didn't say much, just barked at Seth to take off his headphones and asked me about dance and school. As if he cares.

We used to be somewhat of a family, way back before Mom died and Seth was taken. But my dad blames me for losing Seth, and the fact that Seth has come back a damaged, angry juvenile delinquent doesn't mean Dad has buried the hatchet. He doesn't even look me in the eye anymore.

"Hey girly," Gwen says, smiling at me as I slide into the passenger's seat of her car. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Just my dad," I sigh, pulling down the visor so I can fix my makeup in the mirror.

"Nothing that a few beers can't cure. Tell me the latest Austin update to get your mind off it."

I chuckle. "There isn't one. He came by, bought a couple things, didn't say much."

"Why did you ask him to come to the store every week?" Gwen asks.

"Because of Seth. I told you this," I say defensively.

"Are you sure that's really why?" There's a suggestive hint in her voice.

"Yes. What the hell do you mean?"

"You said he's cute."

"So? He's also homeless. His life is a wreck."

"I hate to tell you this, Rory, but he's probably a junkie," Gwen says thoughtfully.

"No he isn't!"

"How would you know?"

"Because he's not high! And he's never asked me for money. He ran away, Gwen. I told you. You just want to think the worst things about him."

"Why did he run away?"

"Something about his little sister," I say dismissively, though I've been wondering the same thing myself.

"Just sounds so made up to me. I think you're too gullible, Rory," Gwen says.

I don't say anything because I don't have a defense. Austin easily could have made up the entire story to make me feel bad for him. I just feel like he's being honest with me, though. He did admit to stealing the stuff, even though it was after I caught him, but still. A criminal would have either run away or attacked me. He did neither.

Gwen doesn't understand the connection I feel with Austin and his sister because of Seth. When I first told her she accused me of trying to be their savior. I feel a twist in my stomach as I wonder whether or not that's exactly what I'm doing.

The frat party is in full swing by the time we get there. It only takes Gwen a few minutes to snag us some drinks, a cute guy already hanging on her arm. I take small sips of my beer and spend a lot of time hanging around by myself listening to music I don't like and talking to people who bore me. Ryan comes by and chats with me for a few minutes, but then he disappears too. A couple of cocky college guys flirt with me, but I brush them off.

As I walk around the huge house, surrounded by pampered rich kids... all I can think about is Austin and Pixie... somewhere out there, sleeping in a van. The night is cold and wet, and I shiver involuntarily.

I've never once missed a meal. Never once slept outside, been in danger, been hungry, been alone, been penniless. I wonder what the hell I'm doing getting involved in a situation I know nothing about. Then I remember... Seth. Maybe I haven't suffered, but he has. For some reason, helping Austin and Pixie fills the void that's been created by not being able to help my own brother. In some way I can't explain, this is my penance.

When I run into Gwen again, I tell her I'm ready to go home. She's already tipsy and having too much fun.

"Take the car. I'll get a ride... from someone," she grins at the boy she's currently flirting with, dropping her keys into my hand.

I walk out into the cold night, wrapping my jacket around myself. Overhead, the clouds are low and red, reflecting the city lights.

I hope they're okay tonight.

——————-

Even though we agreed to meet once a week, Austin never set a specific day to come by the store, so I keep watch for him every day the next week. He finally comes in on Thursday night without Pixie. My stomach clenches. Is she okay?

"Hey," I say, as I take my time ringing up the few items he's purchased.

Austin looks exhausted, and I can tell he has a cold. Wearing his black hoodie as always, he has stubble on his chin and dark circles under his eyes. The palms of his hands are red and shredded with blisters.

"Hey," he says hoarsely, sniffling.

"You don't look so good," I say.

He shrugs. "Got what Pixie's got. I'll be fine."

"What happened to your hands?"

Austin looks down at them. "Working. Planting trees with a shovel and no gloves."

"Ouch," I say.

"It's fine. I don't feel it unless I wash my hands."

"Where is Pixie?" I ask.

"In the van. Too sick to come in," he says, looking over his shoulder as if to check on her, but there's no way to see the parking lot from my register.

"She shouldn't be out in this weather," I say, and I cringe at the know-it-all tone in my voice. Shut up, I tell myself.

But Austin doesn't look offended. "Yeah I know. We got a room," he says, sniffling again.

"Do you need anything?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No. Thanks though. I never thanked you for letting me go the other night either but... thanks. I'm not used to people looking out for us. It's nice to know someone friendly in this city."

I smile as I hand him his bag. He doesn't say goodbye and doesn't look back as he walks away, but it's the most he's ever said to me.

—————-

Over the next few weeks Austin starts to open up to me a little more. He's less guarded each time we meet, a little more willing to share details, a little more accepting of the small items I sometimes throw in his shopping bag: Purell, Neosporin, dental floss, soap. The attitude I first took as rudeness I've begun to understand is really just him protecting himself and Pixie. I don't know where they came from or what happened to them, but I can tell Austin trusts no one... just like Seth.

A few weeks later, he finally brings Pixie with him because she's feeling a little better. Austin says she's still weak and coughing, but he thinks she's on the mend. As for him, he seems to go back and forth between being sick and getting better, flip-flopping each week I see him.

"Anna!" Pixie says happily that night.

I have a Frozen coloring book waiting for her, which she takes gladly.

"Thanks," Austin says, and he sniffles and wipes his runny nose on his hoodie sleeve. He looks more exhausted than ever, and he's getting thinner too.

I grimace. "Tissue?"

"Yeah. Sorry," he says, "It's fucking miserable to have a cold without Kleenex."

I hand him a pack of pocket tissues from the rack next to my register.

"Thanks, Rory," he mumbles as he opens the package.

"You have any plans for tonight?" I ask him.

He shrugs and blows his nose. "Take Pixie back to the hotel. Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow, work."

"Wanna grab a coffee? At the cafe? I get off work in a few minutes," I say without thinking.

Austin looks surprised. "Um... sure. Pixie too?"

"Of course. You can't leave her in the van! I'll buy."

"No. I got enough-"

"Austin," I say flatly, "Let me."

He doesn't put up much of a fight; he simply looks too tired to argue. "Okay. Thanks, Rory. I owe you."

"It's $10.73 tonight," I say.

Austin takes out a handful of crumpled bills. He hands me a five and nothing more.

"Shit. Sorry. That's supposed to be a twenty. I can't think with my head like this," he says, quickly switching out the bills.

"Headache too?" I ask.

"Sinus pressure I think," he says, "I really wish I could get over whatever I have."

"You will. You just need to take it easy."

Austin just looks at me, and I realize the stupidity of what I just said. "Right. That's an option," he says sarcastically.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm ordering two coffees and a hot chocolate from Ryan, who looks at Austin and Pixie and then me like I've grown a second head. I don't let him ask any of the numerous questions I can see in his eyes. I don't have answers anyway.

The three of us sit at a table in the back of the warm, crowded cafe. Pixie, wrapped in a worn quilt, sips her hot chocolate and soon falls fast asleep on Austin's lap. He cradles her small body so gently and tenderly, the way you would hold an infant.

"I can't remember the last time I had coffee," he says.

"You drink it black?" I ask.

He shrugs. "That's how I learned to drink it. Habits are hard to break."

"Learned?"

"My first foster home. Nancy would leave some in the pot every morning, and I started taking it with me to school. It kept me awake in class... I didn't sleep very good back then. That's how I learned to drink it black."

"Nancy?"

"Yeah, Nancy and Riley. We were close."

He doesn't say anymore, but he looks sad. I decide to change the subject.

"So how'd you two end up like this anyway?" I ask, taking a sip of my own coffee.

Austin shifts Pixie on his lap. Her head rolls against his shoulder as she sleeps. "It's kind of a long story."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," I grin.

"Alright. Yours first though."

I take a deep breath. Where to start?

"Well, my dad is running for mayor of Dallas. He owns this store, and he's a big asshole. My mom... she died of cancer back when Seth was just a baby. I don't really remember her much. She was bipolar though, just like my brother."

"You said your brother was a runaway?" Austin asks.

"No. He was taken. Kidnapped."

"Sorry."

"It's okay... I mean, it happened, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. But before that, I was his mom. I took care of him. I made his lunch, took him to school, dressed him. I was only four years older than him, but I did everything, just like you do for Pixie... so I guess I can relate to you in that way."

Austin nods knowingly. "My mom was a meth addict. I mean, is. If she's still alive. I didn't get to take care of Pixie like this, not at first. I was in foster care, and Mom had custody of Pixie. She had cleaned up enough to keep her, and she had the chance to get me back too... but she told the courts she didn't want me."

The words are made worse by the lack of emotion in his voice. Whatever pain he feels, he does a good job of not showing it.

"I'm sorry. That sucks. Some people shouldn't procreate," I say.

Austin laughs softly, playing with a string that's come loose on the sleeve of his hoodie. "Yeah. But it was fine. I wanted to stay in foster care. Going back there would have been hell."

I want to ask why but I'm worried he'll shut down, so I continue on with my own story.

"Seth was bipolar too, and it was worse than Mom's. He had hallucinations. He'd do the craziest stuff! Like, one day he put on his Superman cape and tried to fly off the roof. Luckily he just broke his leg. He was on medication for it, and I took care of that too... making sure he always took it."

I pause and swallow. It's hard to continue from here.

"I was fourteen when he disappeared. I had just gotten accepted into the School of American Ballet in New York. Heard of it?"

I'm not surprised to see Austin shake his head. He doesn't strike me as the type who grew up with the arts.

"Well, it's kind of a big deal. Like, the best thing you can hope for as a dancer. My dream was to dance with the New York City Ballet. They're one of the best dance companies in the world, but they only take dancers from the school. I took their Summer Intensive, and they offered me a scholarship. That summer was ending, and it was right before I was supposed to leave. Me and my first boyfriend were going to the state fair together, and my dad had to work so he made me take Seth along. I was really pissed because I wanted to be alone with my boyfriend, so I gave Seth twenty bucks and told him to go off on his own and meet up with me later at the Ferris Wheel, and that was the last time I saw him until this year. After that, everything went to hell. I didn't go to New York. There was no way I could leave after that. And my dad... he blames me, even to this day. When he talks to me, I can tell he doesn't even want to look at me."

Tears sting my eyes, surprising me. I blink them away, embarrassed.

"Anyway, when I look at Pixie, I imagine she's Seth... That I can take care of her, the way I wish someone took care of him," I say, "Because maybe if someone had, he wouldn't be..."

I pause and shake my head. Don't want to go there. "Never mind. Okay. You now."

Austin sucks in a deep breath. He pulls the blanket up a little, closer to Pixie's pink cheek, and checks to make sure she's still asleep before he starts talking.

"My mom has this boyfriend named Ray. A real bastard. He's Pixie's father, but he... um... he hurt Pixie. He's dangerous, and I don't want him to get his hands on her again," he says softly.

"What do you mean he hurt her?" I ask.

Austin looks down at the table. There's something going on in his head right now, but he's perfected the art of the poker face so skillfully that I have no idea what he's thinking or feeling.

"He just did. I don't want to get into it, but she deserves better. She deserves to be a kid. She deserves a normal life," he says.

"But I don't get it. Why can't you just call Child Protective Services?" I ask curiously.

The solution seems so simple to me. Isn't that what CPS is for? Apparently it's not that simple for Austin though.

"Because the best case scenario is that they'll put Pixie in foster care, and then I'll never see her. Plus, some of those placements are just as bad. There's no way for me to protect her there. And even if everything worked out and she got a great placement and I could see her every day, Ray would have me killed for ratting him out to the cops."

"He'd be in jail!" I exclaim.

Austin shakes his head with a little smile, like he's trying to explain something complex to a clueless child. "No, you don't get it, Rory. The stuff he's into isn't ordinary crime. He runs a drug ring. Do you know how many people you have to kill to get on top like that? In the world of crime, he's like the king, the boss. Nobody crosses him, and I know he'd put a hit on me from inside that prison. I'd be dead in a week."

"How can you be sure?"

"I know. I just know. The guy is ruthless. He has no conscience, no fear of anybody, even the cops. Especially the cops," Austin says.

"So I guess you're out of options huh?"

"Yep. Except for running. I've had to get really creative. I've had to tell a whole bunch of lies. I've had to break the law sometimes, but I'll do anything to protect her. Anything. She's all I got," he says softly, "The only reason I'm still around."

"I get it. I feel the same about Seth. He was found this past spring wandering in the desert. He doesn't remember what happened to him. He was in the middle of a manic episode when they found him," I say.

"Shit," Austin says, "That's fucked up."

"Yeah. Hopefully someday soon, he'll get his memories back... 'cause he's not the same kid. Whatever he went through... it changed him."

I see Austin look down at Pixie. "Yeah... I know what that's like."

"So what do you do for work everyday?" I ask curiously, "You said you were working tomorrow."

"It depends. Usually landscaping, sometimes construction stuff. All under the table. I get hired because a lot of the illegals they hire to do those jobs can't speak English, so I got an advantage. Sometimes people will pay me to do little things like clean their windshields at the gas station too. It just depends on the day and my luck," he says.

"Wow. Clever," I say, "Not what I thought you'd say."

"What did you think I'd say?" he asks, his green eyes sharp.

I bite my lip. "Don't take it the wrong way, but I thought maybe something illegal like drugs or something. I don't know much about being homeless."

"I wish I did have access to drugs," Austin says wryly, "I'd be making a ton. I mean, I do know how to make meth..."

I choke on my coffee. "What?"

He laughs.

"Oh good, you're joking," I say.

He laughs more.

"You're not?" I gasp, my voice squeaking.

"I watched Ray do it my whole life! I know how to make meth, how to turn coke into crack, how to cut heroin bricks, all kindsa stuff."

"Jesus!" I exclaim, and I can't help asking, "So why don't you?"

Austin leans back in the chair and uses his free hand to tick off reasons. "One, I don't want to lose my mind from making drugs, which happens if you don't protect yourself from the fumes. Two, I don't wanna do hard time when I'm inevitably caught. Three, I refuse to be like Ray. I just fucking refuse. I will die before I do anything he does."

As he says this, I watch his hand clench into a fist on the table.

"Understood," I say.

"I don't touch drugs. Well, except pot occasionally, but not the hard stuff. I never will. I saw what they did to my mom. And I won't sell. I won't help people buy them, because that's like murdering them," he says softly.

"True," I say, "That's really admirable."

Austin shrugs, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry about your mom," I say.

"Her choice," he says quickly, like he's practiced saying this before.

"Maybe someday she'll get clean and can meet up with you guys," I say.

A shadow crosses over Austin's face, and I wonder if I've said something that struck a nerve. He was starting to open up to me, but just like that he slams the door in my face.

"I'd better get her back to the room," Austin says, looking down at Pixie. "Thanks for this."

He's already standing up, adjusting Pixie's weight in his arms, like he can't wait to get away from me.

"No problem," I say.

"See you next week," he says.