A Stranger to My Parents

My father, Harrison Hayes, stopped smiling the moment he recognized me.

My mother, Tessa Hayes, instinctively pulled the little boy behind her.

I'd spent six hours sitting in a little diner across from a row of hardware stores on Hardware Row. One grilled cheese sandwich. Seven dollars.

At one point, the owner asked if I wanted a refill of water. I declined. I was afraid that if I stepped away, they might arrive and miss me.

Dad walked over, lowering his voice. "Scott? What are you doing here by yourself?"

I was wearing my old backpack, and my palms were slick with sweat. "Exams are over. I wanted to come see you."

The little boy peeked out from behind Mom. "Mom, who's he?"

Mom opened her mouth but didn't answer.

After a few seconds, Dad said, "This is your older brother, Scott Hayes."

The boy's eyes lit up. "I have a brother?"

Mom immediately ushered him toward the car. "Carter, go home first. Your friends are waiting."

Carter Hayes.

Ten years old.

That was the first time I'd learned I had a younger brother.

My grandfather, Edward Hayes, had chosen my name. He told me there was a stream in Grandpa had named me Scott after Scott's Creek, the stream back home.

He used to say the water ran steady only when it was deep.

As a child, I'd thought it was a rather dull name.

But that night, I suddenly wondered if Grandpa had somehow known all along that I'd spend my life learning to keep everything bottled up inside.

Dad glanced at the shop, then back at me. "It's not convenient at home right now."

Mom quickly jumped in. "That's right. We just had the place fumigated, and the smell is still pretty strong. You've been traveling for hours. We don't want you breathing that in."

Dad added, "You can sleep in the stockroom behind the shop tonight. I'll take you home tomorrow."

I nodded.

Back then, I still made excuses for them. Maybe they really hadn't been prepared for my arrival.

The stockroom was behind the storefront. Shelves were stacked with waterproofing materials, tile adhesive, and hardware supplies.

Dad unfolded a camp bed. When he couldn't find a pillow, he gave me a roll of bubble wrap to use instead. "You're a boy. You can make do for one night."

Mom fished twenty dollars out of her purse and pressed it into my hand. "Buy yourself something to eat tomorrow morning."

I opened my backpack and took out a glass jar. "Mom, Grandpa made these dried figs. He said you like them."

She took the jar and set it beside the cash register. "I'll have some later."

Dad's phone rang. His voice softened immediately when he answered. "Carter? Daddy's coming right over. I'll pick up pizza on the way. You go play something else with your friends for now."

After hanging up, he turned to me. "There's water in the shop. You can wash your face at the sink in back. Don't touch the merchandise. If you break anything, it'll be a headache figuring out the cost."

I lay down on the folding bed. The bubble wrap crackled every time I moved.

On one of the shelves sat a cardboard box with a message written in black marker: Carter's Game Room Decorations. Handle with Care.

I stared at those words for a long time.

I couldn't sleep.

A little after ten, I went to the front counter to get some water.

That was when I spotted a local delivery box. Part of the shipping label was still attached.

The recipient's address read: Apartment 1803, Block 9, Willowville Apartments. Recipient: Carter Hayes.

I picked up the jar of dried figs.

The stockroom was damp, and Grandpa had specifically warned me not to let the figs get wet.

I rented a shared bicycle and followed the navigation for forty minutes. My parents could have driven there in no time.

By the time I reached Willowville Apartments, my legs were already numb with exhaustion.

I followed a delivery driver through the entrance to the building.

The door to Apartment 1803 was slightly ajar. Inside, children were shouting excitedly.

"Carter, use your ultimate!"

"This projector is even bigger than the one at my house!"

Mom laughed. "You're all staying over tonight. We've put sleeping mats in the living room and guest room, and there are toothbrushes and towels for everyone."

Dad called out from inside, "Carter won silver at his piano competition today. You kids can have fun all night!"

I stood at the doorway, holding the jar of dried figs.

So it wasn't that there wasn't room at home.

There was room for everyone else. Just not for me.