Chapter Text
“I’m going to get out of here. Soon as I can.” John was lying on his back under a tree, his fingers loosely tangled around Cynthia’s. It was Sunday evening, one of the rare days where both he and Cyn had any free time, and they were watching the sunset light up the clouds.
“How in the world are you going to manage that, huh?” She said it jokingly enough, but John heard the doubt in her voice.
“Hard work.” John ignored her sigh. “If I save up, I can get on a bus to New York, or Chicago, or LA. Or somewhere.”
“That sounds nice and all, but how are you going to get the money?” Cynthia propped her head up on one elbow, keeping her other hand on top of John’s, and looked down at the man next to her. “You’ve got almost nothing, babe.”
“I’ve got a job,” John said indignantly. “And my truck. I can sell the truck.”
“Nobody’d pay more than a hundred dollars for that piece of junk.”
“Bus tickets aren’t a hundred dollars, Cyn.”
“You’re going to need money for food, and a place to stay. And besides, Mr. Meyer needs your help.” Cynthia took her hand away from John’s to poke him in the stomach, laughing softly as he swatted her hand away. “I think you’re better at keeping the farm running than he is.”
“There are plenty of boys who’ll help him,” John grinned, and propped himself up on his elbow, mirroring Cynthia.
“But leaving him to find someone else right at the beginning of summer is a bit cruel, don’t you think?” Cynthia poked John in the stomach again.
“He’ll have no problem finding another boy, Cyn. Especially at the beginning of summer, when everybody’s parents are pushing for a summer job.” John poked Cynthia in the stomach twice, smiling as she tried not to laugh.
“And what about me, then?” Cynthia pouted. “Are you just going to leave me behind?” She looked at John with puppy eyes as he poked her again and again, only loosing her cool when John started to tickle her.
“You could come with me,” John suggested, still tickling Cynthia and grinning as she tried not to laugh.
“I can’t,” she said, finally managing to push John’s hand away. “I’ve got to help Mother and Daddy with the store.”
“Why d’you call him ‘daddy?’” John asked curiously. “I thought that was a name you kept just for me.”
“John!” Cynthia’s eyes were wide as she playfully swatted at John’s head. He ducked out of the way, laughing. “I would like to go with you, though. If I didn’t have to help Mother and Dad,” Cynthia said a moment later, her tone serious now.
“Are you just going to spend your whole life working for your parents? Waste your whole life in this small town where nothing happens?” John wasn’t grinning anymore.
“I like it here, John. I don’t want to leave. Not permanently, at least.”
“How could you not want to leave? Nothing exciting ever happens here.”
“Marty Channing got pregnant,” Cynthia pointed out.
“Yeah, well,” John grimaced, “let’s just be glad that wasn’t you.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to have a child with me?” John couldn’t tell if Cynthia was actually offended or just joking.
“Cyn, hon, I’m eighteen. You’re nineteen. We’re not old enough to be parents.” John picked at the clover that covered the ground instead of facing Cynthia.
“What’s going to happen to us, John?” Cynthia, who’s voice was already soft, was barely audible, which meant crying was a very real possibility. John pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned against the trunk of the tree. He opened his arms, inviting Cynthia to curl up with him. He smiled softly as she did, nestling her head in the crook of his neck. Absentmindedly, John started to run his fingers through Cyn’s blonde hair. The sun was almost gone from the sky, and the light made her hair look golden instead of just blonde.
“You didn’t answer my question, John,” Cynthia murmured after a few minutes.
“I dunno, Cyn,” John said simply. “I dunno.”
“Large milkshake and a double cheeseburger?” Jane smiled as Paul walked into the diner and sat at the counter.
“No,” Paul shook his head, “I wish though. I’m here because I need to get a job.”
“You mean you don't want to work on a farm somewhere?” Jane teased, taking her apron off and jumping up on the counter next to where Paul was sitting. “It’s just because you care about me so much, huh?”
“Oh, you’re right. I forget you work here,” Paul sighed and shook his head. “I’ve got to go talk to old man Peterson immediately.” Paul made as though he was going to leave the counter, and exaggerated a sigh as Jane grabbed his shoulder.
“Not old man Peterson,” Jane cried in mock surprise. “I hear he doesn’t have any cute girls for you to kiss when you get bored.”
“Oh, so you’re saying that Joe’s Diner has cute girls for me to kiss?”
“Well,” Jane bit her lip and leaned close to Paul’s ear to whisper, “there’s one in particular that comes to mind.”
“Well then,” Paul grinned, “all the more reason to work here instead of for old man Peterson.”
They were just about to kiss when an actual customer walked in.
“Oh, hey, Danny,” Jane grinned. She slid off of the counter and put her apron back on as Paul groaned disappointedly.
“I, uh, hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Danny sounded as though he was trying not to laugh.
“‘Course not, Danny,” Jane smiled.
“That’s up for debate,” Paul grumbled, sighing in protest as Jane reached over the counter to swat at him.
“C’mon, Paul,” Jane tossed an apron at him, “time for you to get to work.”
“So soon? I haven’t even talked to anyone with any power about working here,” Paul smiled, tying the apron around his waist and stepping behind the counter.
“I think it’ll work out fine. Be a dear, though, and start some fries, will you?”
Danny was one of only thirteen customers they had the entire time Paul was there.
“How does this place stay open?” Paul wondered aloud several hours later as he wiped down one of the tables.
“Weekends are busier then hell,” Jane shrugged. “Other than that, I’ve got no idea.”
“Oh, shit,” Paul caught a glimpse of the clock hanging over the doorway a couple of minutes later. “I’ve got to be getting home.”
“It’s only nine, Paulie.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got homework to do, and I’ve got to help Mike with any homework he has.” Paul untied the apron and set it down on the counter. “I shouldn’t have left him alone for this long.”
“Is your dad, um,” Jane searched for the right words, “zoning out again?”
“That’s one way to put it,” Paul said bitterly. He stepped around the counter and into the kitchen, where Jane was putting away the dishes. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Jane,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Of course,” Jane nodded. “Tell Mikey hi for me, will you?”
“Mhmm,” Paul murmured, kissing Jane one more time before walking out of the diner.
It was oddly chilly for a night in late May, and Paul found himself shivering a little bit as he walked home. Thankfully, though, he didn’t live too far away, and the warmth of his house was a welcome comfort.
“Paulie!” Paul froze halfway through pulling the front door shut. He hadn’t expected his dad to be conscious, much less capable of forming words. “You’re home later than Mike and I expected.”
“Sorry.” Paul unfroze, pulled the door shut behind him, and braced himself for the scene that he was expecting to be in the living room. “I’ve got a job now.”
Paul was pleasantly surprised -- well, pleasantly surprised probably wasn’t the best way to put it, but he was surprised nonetheless -- at the scene that actually greeted him. There were only four empty beer bottles, possibly a record for Jim McCartney. Though only the small lamp was on, Paul could see that Mike’s textbooks were spread out across the coffee table.
“Dad’s, um, helping me,” Mike said in a very, very small voice, looking up at Paul from where he sat on the floor.
“Is he now?” Paul managed to thinly conceal the shock in his voice. He was still trying to take in the scene in front of him when Mike’s stomach grumbled loudly. “Have you had anything to eat since you’ve been home?”
“No,” Mike shook his head. “Dad said I can’t have supper until I’ve finished everything.”
“Christ, Dad, that’s no way to help him,” Paul said angrily.
“The boy needs motivation.” Jim was slurring his words, and as Paul walked closer to Mike, he could see more beer bottles on the floor. Nine in total. That made more sense.
“No, the boy needs food. He’s twelve, for crying out loud. And the light should be on in here, he’s going to strain his eyes if you make him study in the dark.” Paul switched on the light, and when he saw Mike, a bubble of rage exploded from his chest. “Jesus, Dad! What the hell did you do to him?”
Mike’s right cheek was an angry red that meant he’d been slapped, and his eyes were bloodshot and red, from crying. Paul ran to his brother and helped him up, examining the boy to see if anything else had happened to him. There were bruises in the shape of fingerprints along both of his arms, and Paul could see a particularly nasty bruise across Mike’s collarbone.
“Boy wouldn’t stop complaining about being hungry,” Jim grunted.
“That’s bullshit,” Paul yelled, grimacing as Mike winced. Paul should not have left his brother at home while he went to work. “That’s fucking bullshit. You can’t hit your damn kids, Dad. You can’t do that.”
“You keep your goddamn mouth shut, unless you want a whooping just like your brother got.” Jim’s voice had a sharp clarity to it, even in his drunken state, and Paul was taken aback by it.
“Fuck you,” he managed, before gently pulling his brother into the kitchen. “Does anything hurt real bad?” he asked, standing on tiptoe to reach into the cabinet above the sink where they kept a first-aid kit.
“No,” Mike mumbled. “There’s a cut by my eye, though. Just a little one.”
“Oh, Mike, I’m sorry,” Paul said sadly, gently placing a bandaid by his brother’s eye. “I shouldn’t have left you at home by yourself for so long.” Before Mike could answer, his stomach grumbled even louder than it had before.
“Food?” Mike cracked a half-assed grin, and Paul couldn’t help but smile softly in response. Try as he might, their father wasn’t going to get either of them too down.
“Scrambled eggs sound good?” Paul asked, searching the fridge for something that wasn’t beer.
“Yeah,” Mike said gratefully. “Thanks, Paul.”
“I’m going to get us out of here one day,” Paul said a few minutes later as he set the plate of eggs in front of Mike. “I promise you.”