Milk Run
 
Author: Erica
 
Email: ericaphile@hotmail.com
 
Rating: G
 
Summary:  Late night vignette

Author's Note: Thanks to Rebecca for the beta read
 
--+--
 
"Mommy?"
 
Nick groggily raised his head from the pillow.  He didn't know what time it was, 
only that it was very late.  He was sure he'd heard her, like the way he'd hear 
her at this time of the night when she'd come home from a party and check in on 
him before thanking the babysitter.  He'd even smelled her perfume; he was sure 
of it.  
 
Then Nick remembered everything.  His mother was dead: 6 weeks, 39 days to be 
exact.  Tonight, he wasn't even home.  He was in Dad's house in the city.  Dad 
said they were going to move back to the Shadyside house after it was "fixed".  
Nick didn't know what fixing was needed in the house.  Sure, the faucet in the 
powder room dripped a little, but then there hadn't been guests using the powder 
room every since Mom got sick then…
 
Nick shut his eyes tight to keep from crying.  Maybe when the Shadyside house 
was "fixed", it would be completely different.  Maybe Dad wanted to erase Mom, 
and now that she was dead, he could do it because Mom wasn't there anymore.  
Will his room even be the same or will everything be completely different?
 
They divorced because Dad found it hard to pay attention to both the FIRM and 
his family, Mom had explained.  It was just her and Nick against the world, ever 
since they've been on their own.  
 
It was true Dad visited him sometimes after the divorce, not every weekend the 
way he was supposed to, only when he wasn't "busy".  Nick even stayed here in Dad's
house a handful of times.  Most of the time, though, being with Dad after the 
divorce meant they'd go to a restaurant Dad chose, the kind of restaurant where 
Nick would have a big white napkin on his lap that kept falling to the floor because 
he's not supposed to have it tucked into his collar.  He didn't need to speak much 
to Dad, because people kept interrupting their meal with Dad standing up and shaking 
hands with the more important people.  Sometimes, Dad remained seated and shook hands 
with the ordinary people and just nodded his head when the least important people 
said hi.  They never did go to the pizza place or Friendly's like Nick wanted.  
If they went out for pizza or at Friendly's, Nick was sure Dad wouldn't have to shake 
any person's hand there.
  
Ever since Mom died, Nick tried to be really good, because if he fouled up, Dad 
might get mad and put him in an orphanage.  He'd seen a story once on television 
where the kid ended up in an orphanage because his mom was dead and his dad 
didn't want him.  The kid ended up growing into a really bad criminal.  Mom had 
turned off the television and Nick never knew how the story ended.
 
When Dad was angry, he was very scary.  Nick could never forget the time he was 
little and Mommy was out shopping.  He was playing on Daddy's desk with his Hot 
Wheels while Daddy worked.  He stupidly knocked over Daddy's glass of scotch 
and the "contracts" got soaked in the puddle.  Daddy shouted with really bad 
words.  Then when he started crying, Daddy ordered him to stop and Nick had 
blubbed and whimpered and tried to hold it all in, and Daddy was pleased when he 
stopped.  If he fouled up, Nick should accept the "consequences" without crying, 
which never accomplished anything, Daddy said; crying was weak.
 
Nick knew he couldn't go back to sleep just now.  He switched on his bedside 
lamp and squinted at the carpet for his slippers.  He left his bed and walked 
down the hallway.  Dad's door was wide open and Nick saw Dad's bed wasn't slept 
in.  Was he alone in the house?  
 
Nick wandered downstairs and he was less scared when he heard the murmur of 
voices from the dining room.  He was quiet as a mouse as he passed by and spied 
the dining room table strewn with papers.  Mr. Johnson from the FIRM was working 
on stuff.  Nick heard Dad say something and Mr. Johnson nodded in return.   
 
That settled it.  If they were working in the dining room, Nick couldn't watch 
channel 11 in the living room where Chilly Billy was supposed to show Shriek of 
the Mutilated tonight.  Nick learned very early never to disturb these working 
sessions, which were so important.  Dad and his people from the FIRM always 
discussed money using big words Nick couldn't understand.  With his planned 
television watching aborted, Nick had to settle for a glass of milk to help him 
go back to sleep.  
 
But the milk only filled the very bottom of Nick's drinking glass and the carton 
was empty.  Living with Dad was hard, because they always ran out of milk.  For 
Nick, the food was different, even his clothes smelled different.  He had to 
ride a different school bus because he wasn't living in Shadyside while the 
house was getting fixed.  Everything was too different.
 
Nick realized with a blackness he'd never experienced before that with Mom dead, 
he'd never taste her chocolate chip cookies.  Or her oatmeal cookies.  Or 
her snickerdoodles.   Each time Mom felt better after chemotherapy, she'd bake 
cookies and Nick knew all was well again; but with her now buried under the 
ground, the taste of those cookies would never pass through his lips ever.  He 
gritted his teeth, clamping on the overwhelming sadness that threatened to spill 
out of him.  He angrily threw the milk carton into the trashcan, creating a 
clatter in the still house.
 
Dad's heavy footsteps followed.  
 
"Hey," Dad said.  "You still up?"
 
"We're out of milk," Nick told him.  Why did Dad always forget to buy milk?
 
"Do you want something to drink?" Dad asked, opening the refrigerator.  "There's 
still juice here."
 
Nick shook his head.  "We're always out of milk," he repeated.  Then he 
remembered he had to be good and not make his dad mad at him.  "I'll get water."
 
He took another glass and filled it with water from the tap.  He drank the water 
as Dad looked at him, stroking his moustache the way he did when he was 
thinking.
 
"You all right, Nick?"
 
"I—I heard…" He wanted to say, he woke up because of Mom; Mommy's voice was 
calling him.  He was inexplicably furious.  "I heard a--a noise, that's why I 
woke up."
 
"We'll try to keep it down," Dad said.  "Come on, I'll tuck you in."
 
"No, I can go to bed by myself."  Nick rinsed the glasses he'd used, then put 
them upside down on the draining tray like he'd been taught.  "I'm not a baby."
 
Dad reached out, but Nick pulled away before Dad could touch his hair.
 
"I'll get the milk tomorrow, Nicholas," Dad sighed.  
 
Nick didn't look back as he left the kitchen and went back to his room.
 
THE END