Home Sweet Home Ch. 02

I have started to place a schedule in my profile bio if anyone wants an idea of when to expect updates. I'm am also aware of the fact my story page is a complete mess with the series duplicating themselves. Hopefully, that gets fixed soon. Because two chapters in this series ended up without an erotic scene, I put this chapter in the non-erotic category.

--

Riley was nudged awake, but was not aware of the reason why. Opening his eyes, he looked at his mute alarm clock, and listened for movement in the kitchen for his new tenant or the television. It was quiet. The curtains of his room were still shut, so he knew it was not sunlight blasting him into consciousness. He wondered what exactly woke him up.

When he sat up, he felt something weighing the blanket down. He tugged at it, believing it was the other side folded too tightly under the mattress. Until he heard an irritated mumble. Lowering the blanket, he saw Tilly's four-year-old son Howie curled up on top of the comforter, his body wrapped inside his own small blanket.

"Whoa, what the..." he said aloud, then went quiet in case Howie woke up from the sound of him talking.

Riley carefully slid out of his bed and immediately opened a drawer to find a pair of shorts, so he was wearing more than just his underwear. He quickly placed on a shirt next and left the room through the open door he remembered closing last night.

Tilly was nowhere to be seen in the living room or kitchen. Riley simply began his morning routine of coffee and a single serving microwavable breakfast bowl. When the coffee was brewed and the bowl was steaming after he removed the film, Tilly came down the stairs, seemingly looking for something. Riley had an idea of who she was looking for.

"Please don't get ahead of me," Riley said to prime the conversation.

"Don't tell me Howie went to your bed last night?" Tilly asked.

"Does he do that often?" I ask.

"It's been described as expressing his desire for paternal attachment. His dad has been around sporadically, so he tends to find replacements," Tilly explained and pointed to his room in inquiry.

"He's still asleep. I'll be sure to lock my door in the future," Riley said, then blew into the bowl as he carried it to his office.

"Sorry if that weirded you out," Tilly said.

"He's a kid and kids are weird," Riley said. He placed his coffee and breakfast on his desk, and then pressed the spacebar on his laptop with his index finger to wake the machine up.

"I need to go around town today looking for work," Tilly said as she stepped into the frame where the stained glass once was. It had been a week, so she was settled in and ready for the next step. "I know watching him isn't your job, so I'm not going to ask you. I have a babysitter coming in a few hours."

"Okay, thanks for the heads up," Riley said. He took a sip of his coffee then placed the mug down to type in his password. "Where are you looking?"

"Usual places single moms go. Waitress, secretary, substitute physics teacher," she said. Riley waited a few seconds before he smiled at the joke. "I should be back at around five."

"Okay, good luck," Riley said.

Opening a Word document titled Shattered Cross 3, Riley stared at the text curser with his hands hovering over the keyboard. His hands pulled back to his body after a minute of typing a single letter three times and backspacing three times in frustrating and unproductive thought. Two coffee refills and one piss later, he was three letters in, followed by three backspaces. At least he wasn't losing ground he thought.

Two hours of spinning in his chair and tossing a tennis ball against the wall later, he had advanced to typing four letters and backspacing three times to create an artificial sense of progress. He became determined that this novel would begin with the letter P.

After completing more work than he had for essentially the last year, he left his office to get dressed now that his room was available. Howie was now awake and dressed while Tilly was preparing him a lunch. She was dressed for potential interviews in a presentable pair of jeans and a blouse. Once changed, Riley went to kitchen for more coffee.

"Get any work done?" Tilly asked when he arrived at the coffeepot.

"P, as in progress," he said and poured a cup.

"Good to hear," she replied, and he retreated to his office.

Riley spun the chair to face his bookshelf he still had not built. The lumber for the project was present, but he still lacked the tools to complete it. His original list of just a handsaw and sandpaper was inadequate. No circular saw to make the cuts. No nail punch so the hammer would not leave impressions on the wood. No planer to ensure material thickness so the trim was even. For now, his books remained in ten boxes stacked neatly in five rows of two.

The door knocked, followed by enthusiastically rapid doorbell ringing. Knocking resumed with a shave and a haircut but stopped to create the anticipation of Tilly responding with two bits. Tilly opened the door and greeted the babysitter as an old friend.

"Thanks for coming," Tilly said, hugging her tightly before pulling her into the house. "Howie, come over here." Howie looked at her from the couch but didn't move. "Come on, say hi to Alice."

"Sup dude," Alice said, flashing him a horizontal two-finger peace sign. Howie remained disinterested and resumed his cartoon. "Ouch."

"He's fine. You got my number in case you need to call. If you need anything, just let me know. If it's a super emergency, Riley is in his office."

"Sup bro," Alice said, leaning over to see Riley through the windowless door, presenting the same peace sign. Riley returned the peace sign with vertical fingers.

Alice was a tall and skinny teenaged girl with thin red hair freshly crimped into waves. Faded blue jeans and white vans, a shirt advertising a band -- she would say, criminally underrated -- underneath a black unzipped hoody. The only overt makeup was dark eyeshadow. One piercing in her right ear, and three piercings in the shape of stakes in her left. Just like a character in Riley's books.

"He's had breakfast. His lunch is in the fridge, anytime he's hungry after twelve is fine. I should be back to make dinner, so you don't need to worry about that," Tilly said, and Alice nodded to confirm she understood. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem, you babysat me once upon a time," Alice said. Tilly expressed her gratitude one more time, and then left the house.

"Little dude, you wanna do something?" Alice asked, and Howie didn't respond. "Good talk dude." Alice said and leaned her body into the open window of Riley's shut door. "It was like, super nice of you to let her stay."

"Not charity. She's a tenant," Riley said.

"Can I stay for fifty a month too?" she asked, and they both laughed. "I understand why you did that. She's proud, she wouldn't take it for free. It's still generous."

"I grew up, not always knowing if I was going to have a roof. I often didn't. It sucked. Sometimes outside was preferable to the foster homes I was sent to. A couple times I ran away. It's no environment for a kid. I wouldn't wish it on anyone," Riley said. "Have you known her a long time?"

"Ten years give or take. My dad's your neighbor. Him and my stepmom are on vacation with my siblings. I was invited, but I decided to stay because I wanted to catch a concert. Now that I've been to the concert, I wish I went," Alice said with a grin. "Oh well, gotta live with it."

"What show?"

"Porcelain Dolls," Alice said, standing upright to straighten the design on her t-shirt. A band who performed in porcelain masks, the t-shirt showing strings attached to them like they were marionettes. "Good show, not worth skipping a vacation through Europe though." Riley was also a fan and was acquainted with the drummer Sullivan Stewart. They exchanged numbers and anytime they were in the same city they had a drink together. Riley had been backstage twice.

"Do you own the limited release..."

"...EP on vinyl? Yes I do," Alice said proudly, then noticed Riley had framed his. "I see you do as well."

"Look closer," Riley said, and she leaned in a little more.

"Is that autographed?" Alice asked.

"Whole band," Riley said.

"Get out of here," Alice said with a large grin. "That's awesome. I'd give my left ovary for that. What do you do that you have that?"

"I'm an author," Riley said.

"Anything I'd read?"

"How many authors named Riley do you read?" Riley asked

"Blake, that's about it...fuck me," Alice said and stepped away from the door. No wonder he looked so familiar to her. "Be right back." Alice stepped onto the porch to scream, then returned a moment later. "Now that my inner fangirl has been exorcised, big fan."

"I see the piercings. Sister Theodora Abernathy inspired?"

"You noticed, why yes," Alice said playfully. Was there a single teenaged girl in this town who wasn't one of his fans, he wondered. His novels were never intended to resonate with teenaged girls. They just did. "If I'm interrupting with the writing of book three, I will back away, and you won't even know I'm here."

"Kind of slow right now. This is what I have so far. Want to read?" Riley asked.

"The earliest draft of the next book? Where do I sign, Satan?" she asked. Riley printed the page and handed her the paper. She was confused by the single sheet of paper, then even more so by the content on that sheet of paper. "This is the letter P."

"P, as in progress," Riley said.

"Backing away," Alice said with her hands up, still holding the paper. "I'm keeping this."

--

Several times throughout the day, Riley felt eyes peering at him. When he looked, he saw Howie peeking into his office. After a few blinks Riley would give the boy a small wave, and Howie would shuffle away. Riley chuckled a little each time. As the day went on, they turned it into a game.

A few minutes after Howie would look at Riley, Riley would look at Howie until he looked back. Howie even went as far as returning the wave. Riley would then silently go back to his business, and Howie smiled once he figured out Riley was playing with him.

Howie crawled across the ground to the office door, then went on his tiptoes to gaze inside. Riley would spin in his chair, and Howie quickly ducked down, even though the top of his head was still visible. The third time Howie looked up Riley was no longer in his chair. His face expressed puzzlement, until he heard a sudden "boo!" from Riley who was hiding against the space between the door and the wall. Howie jumped back, but his surprise was short lived and replaced with laughter.

"Howie, come over here, let him work," Alice said from the couch. Howie gave Riley an enthusiastic wave before running to the living room.

Tilly came home empty handed from her job search, but there were still a few places she expressed hope. The moment she got home, that concern took a backseat to making sure her son had dinner.

Riley stepped out of his office for a fresh cup of coffee. While he was pouring, he watched Tilly almost dance around the kitchen as she prepared the ingredients in the order they would be used in the recipe. Rice was the base of the meal, and she used her father's electronic scale to perfectly measure the rice and water. Distracted, Riley stopped pouring with hardly a second left before he would burn his hand.

"I always mess rice up somehow," Riley said, taking a sip of the coffee that had gradually taken a burnt flavor throughout the day.

"Easiest thing in the world to make. You got a minute to learn so you never mess it up again?" she asked.

"I guess," Riley said, then leaned against the counter.

Riley watched and listened as she explained the entire process. The water to rice ratio. Rinsing the rice in a strainer. Then she stressed the importance of not lifting the lid off the pot until complete.

As the rice cooked, Tilly began prepping the chicken breasts. Riley said he was never good at cooking those either. He always burnt the exterior, but the middle was still raw or too chewy to be enjoyed. Tilly explained the solution was to butterfly it, and then demonstrated how. She then used a different knife to chop vegetables, and Riley commented on her speed, saying he'd lose his fingertips.

"Curl your fingers in. Look at my fingers," Tilly said, and Riley tipped his body down to watch. "I use my knuckles like a guard. See?"

"Who taught you this?" Riley asked.

"My dad," she said, then sighed at his memory. "He was a chef. Co-owned a restaurant with Alice's dad. I used to wait tables when I was younger."

"Ever trained professionally?" Riley asked.

"I was nearly done with school when I had Howie. Didn't finish," she said, pushing the chopped vegetables to the side and prepared the next to be sliced.

"Is the restaurant still open?" Riley asked.

"Yes. Alice's dad got my parent's share in the probate. He said he'll talk with me about it when he gets back from vacation. But I don't want it," Tilly said. Riley looked over at Howie, then back to her. "If that restaurant starts to falter, I'm holding the bag."

"Why not a job there at least?" Riley asked.

"No one there would ever take me seriously," Tilly said.

"You have more important things to worry about," Riley said, then gestured to Howie.

"It's a pity job," Tilly said, putting the knife down in restrained anger. Riley took the hint and left the room. "You want a plate?"

"No, but thanks," Riley said, and shut the door to this office as if it afforded him any privacy.

--

Riley and Tilly did not speak for the rest of night. After Tilly went upstairs to get Howie to bed, Riley prepared for bed himself. Another day of trying to write, with only a single letter to show for it.

Before retiring to his room, Riley walked around the first floor to tidy up some basic things. Make sure the pillows were placed on the couch properly. The coasters on the coffee table were stacked. The remotes for the entertainment system were in a findable location. Shoes were put away. The chairs at the dining room table were pushed in and spaced evenly apart. Howie's coloring supplies were made presentable. Kitchen utensils with the wooden handles were cleaned and put on a drying rack. Basic things.

Now content with the house, he went to his room and started cleaning up for bed. Once ready, Riley pulled the covers up, but then remember about Howie. Before going to sleep, he locked his door.

During the night, Riley was awoken by soft tapping at his bedroom door. Pulling his head off the pillow, he listened for a moment, then turned on the light by his bedside. Slipping on a pair of shorts, Riley stepped to his door and tried to turn the knob. Remembering it was locked, he unlocked it, and then opened it.

Howie was just outside of his door, appearing asleep, but rocking back and forth as if trying to move forward, but constantly headbutting the door. He was sleepwalking while dragging his blanket behind him.

"Hey bud," Riley said softly, and kneeled in front of him. "You okay?" Howie took a step forward and headbutted Riley's chest. "You're not even awake." Riley said with a laugh. "Come on buddy."

Riley picked Howie up, stepping on the blanket and accidently tugging it out of Howie's hand when he stood upright. He leaned down with the boy still in his arms and retrieved the blanket. From there he carried him upstairs and to his room.

Tilly heard movement and came to her door to investigate. She watched as Riley gently laid the boy down and tucked him in. As Riley's hand pulled the cover up to his chin, Howie grabbed his hand and pulled it closer to his face. Riley's attempt to pull his hand back was meet with a firmer grip.

Riley smiled, just letting him win for the moment. At least until Howie opened his mouth and slobbered on the knuckle of his index finger.

"Nope," Riley said. He struggled his hand away, then wiped his finger dry on his shorts. Tilly watched the entire thing and held back a laugh, but Riley heard her regardless. He slowly left the room, and delicately shut the door.

"Sorry about him," Tilly said, and Riley assured her it was fine. "Sorry about earlier too. You're right. My own pride should come in second. When Alice's dad gets back, I'll talk to him about a job."

"Whatever you're comfortable with," Riley said.

"Alice told me you played with him a little today, and now this. You're good with kids," Tilly said, a small smile forming.

"I just understand them. I remember being a kid. A lot of adults just don't remember that part of their life. I remember my childhood, all too well," Riley said, his tone alluding to his childhood not being pleasant.

"You mentioned it wasn't great," Tilly said, and Riley confirmed it wasn't. "I'm sorry to hear that. I grew up, here..." she said, gesturing around herself. "...with two great parents, and my brother."

"Where's your brother?" Riley asked. Why didn't he answer the probate either?

"He died. Long time ago. Before Howie was even born. Howie's named after him," Tilly explained, and Riley expressed his condolences. "Thank you for keeping the instruments. Most of them were his."

"Like I said, I kept them in case someone showed up," Riley said. They both stood silently, waiting for the other to speak next. The conversation felt like it was over, but there didn't seem to be an organic way to end it. "I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, of course," Tilly said, and they exchanged goodnights as he walked down the stairs.

--

Diana spent the first half of her workday evaluating overtime budgeting for the department. Detective Jeremiah Foster had the audacity to put in an overtime pay request for the time he spent interviewing Riley Blake. The interview that was responsible for him being encouraged to put in for retirement. Diana expected him to appeal that with the county union, but if it went to an open hearing, she knew he would drop it and retire with something resembling dignity rather than explain himself.

Taking a working lunch, Diana scrolled through complaints to get a sense of the community's priorities. Several cars parked behind the bakery downtown were towed yesterday. This was a common complaint she rightfully ignored. Some town people trying to avoid paying for parking at the train stop would park behind the bakery. There was adequate signage clearly stating the authorized vehicles for that lot, and it being a tow-away zone. Diana still received no fewer than fifteen complaints from lawful towing a week. Sometimes from the same people who hadn't learned their lesson. She had the response saved to a Word document on her computer so she could easily copy and paste the replies.

While she was completing her lunch, a knock came from her door. Diana looked up from her computer and saw Staff Sergeant Gerald Hopper standing next to a woman with hair frayed from stress, and frumpy clothing. Diana knew the look of an overworked public servant. Her first and correct guess was Child Protective Services. She introduced herself as Tabitha Sweetwater.

"How may I help you?" Diana asked, and Gerald walked into her office to hand her a sheet of paper folded into vertical thirds. At first glance it was an arrest warrant. On second glance, it was an out-of-state arrest warrant for felony kidnapping. "Oh boy."

"Yup," Gerald said, releasing a heavy sigh. These arrests were never fun. They were emotionally devastating for all parties involved. Children ripped from their parent's arms because someone didn't want to follow court instructions.

"Matilda Aberdeen for the kidnapping of Howard Aberdeen. Her own son?" Diana asked, and the woman nodded.

"He was admitted into foster care in Indiana while she was serving a sentence for drug possession. He was originally sent to his biological father, but he was later arrested as well, so became a ward of the state. His grandparents had already died. She did seven months of her fifteen months before being released due to crowding. Next thing she did was take her son from his foster parents and fled the state," Tabitha summarized.