Kelly set the plate filled with crispy fried bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and hash browns in front of her.

"Try this," he grinned. "my specialty."

Jackie looked up at him, her brows raised. "You expect me to eat all of this?"

"Every bite," he answered with a smile. "You're too skinny. Someone needs to fatten you up."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And after you fatten me up, are you gonna throw me in the oven?"

It took a moment for the Hansel and Gretel reference to sink in, and when the recognition finally covered his face, Jackie laughed.

"Eat, Miss Comedian," he pointed at the plate. "all of it, or I'll pinch your finger."

Jackie's spirits rose as she studied the plate before her. The aroma that drifted up to her nostrils was heady. She had been smelling the breakfasts being served to customers all morning and had worked up quite the appetite.

Since her first night in the diner, Kelly had said no more about her staying with him. Day after day, she served coffee and soft drinks to his customers and helped with cleaning up. Night after night, she helped him close the diner for the evening, then followed him back to his apartment, where he tucked her into the sofa bed before retiring to his room for the night.

There was a time she asked Kelly why he didn't have a waitress to help him. His answer was short as he flipped the burgers on the grill, the ever-present cigar dangling from his lips. Amazingly, Kelly could do this without ever once dropping ashes. Jackie considered this a feat in itself. Kelly claimed it as an art form.

Around the cigar, he told her that his waitress had left him. At her questioning eyes, he shrugged and dismissed the conversation.

Now, she gobbled the food shamelessly, filling the void in her stomach. She had been up helping Kelly since before five with only coffee to sustain her. She was more than ready for this kind of breakfast.

Her plate was almost empty when she heard the bell jingle over the door. She shoveled one last bite into her mouth and started to rise from the booth. She had a ready smile for the new customer, but it froze on her face, and she had to swallow hard to get the eggs down her suddenly dry throat.

He walked on long, lean legs to the counter and eased onto a stool. The sun from the windows threw shimmering lights through the brown hair that fell in a soft shag to his shoulders. He shrugged out of the jean jacket and placed it on the stool next to him. Beneath it, he wore a black t-shirt tucked neatly into his bell-bottom jeans.

Jackie was still staring when his glance fell on her. She dropped her eyes when he smiled. Hastily, she wiped her mouth with the paper napkin and rose from the booth.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice husky. The words sticking on the lump in her throat as she walked behind the counter. Her palms were sweaty. She wiped them on her jeans.

"Coffee?" It was more of a question.

She turned around to reach for a cup, but her hands were still damp. The cup slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with a loud crash. The ceramic shards scattered around her feet.

“Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. The red stain crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I have to clean that up. I’ll be right back.”

She fled to the kitchen through the swinging doors. Kelly was at the dishwasher, the cigar in his mouth.

“What was that noise?” he asked around the cigar.

“It’s nothing. I broke a cup. I’ll clean it up.”

Kelly nodded.

What she found was Brad stooping down, picking up the larger pieces of ceramic.

He glanced up. “Thought I might help,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to. I poured us some coffee, too, if that’s all right.”

She knelt on her haunches to help with the glass. When she looked up, Brad’s face was inches from hers. She could see his brown eyes were flecked with green around the irises and fringed with long lashes. He smelled good, like shampoo and a little bit of musk. His lips were red and formed into a cupid's bow at the top. She could feel her eyes growing heavy under his gaze. He was close enough to kiss.

It was this thought that brought her to her feet.

"Are you all right?" Brad asked.

"Excuse me," she mumbled. "I have to..." She pointed toward the ladies before turning around to flee.

Leaning heavily against the closed door, she let her breath out in ragged gasps. With one hand, she searched for the light switch and flipped it on, bathing the room in brightness. The empty gray walls glared back at her. She took a few deep breaths to slow her heart, then pushed herself away from the door. She walked to the sink, flipped on the cold water then studied her reflection in the mirror.

Her face looked pale and frightened as blue eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She wondered when, or if, she would ever be able to live normally, act naturally, without feeling the need to flee. She asked herself when, or if, she would ever feel safe in this world.

Something inside told her that her fear of Ma'am or the police had nothing to do with how she felt right now. The boy at the counter took her breath away, caught her unawares, hit her where she lived. A thousand clichés ran through her mind, but only one thing was for sure. If she could gain enough courage to walk back out there, she was going to find out why.

Jackie splashed cold water on her face, then searched her back pocket for her comb. She pulled the band holding her ponytail and shook her head, then ran the brush through the mass of blonde hair until it fell shimmering to her waist. Returning the comb to her pocket, she drew in a deep breath and walked out into the diner.

She shuffled to the counter and stared in silence at the empty coffee cup and smoldering cigarette butt in the ashtray. The faint scent of musk still lingered in the air. The place was suddenly bleak without him.

She slid onto a stool and rested her chin in her hands. Loneliness filled her with a dull ache. An ache she had not felt since her parent's death. Being with Kelly was such a joy that most times, she could forget the reason she was there.

Kelly eased onto the stool next to her and leaned close to her ear. "His name is Brad," he whispered.  “And he was asking about you."

Jackie turned to him in surprise. "He was?"

Kelly nodded his face a big smile. "He was."

"What did he say?"

"He thinks you're pretty."

She giggled, feeling her cheeks growing warm. "You know him?"

Kelly nodded again. "Known him for years."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"I hope not!" She felt the laughter bubbling up inside of her. "You think he'll come back?" she asked hopefully.

Kelly stamped his cigar out in the ashtray that Brad had used. "Oh," he said slowly. "I'm pretty sure he will."

***

Brad left the diner and drove down 22nd Street, steering the royal blue Volkswagen through the side streets of Barry's haunts. He hoped he could find him and set things right. If not, at least he enjoyed riding around in his Bug.

He loved his Super Beetle and drove as much as possible. If it weren't for Vince, he knew he wouldn't have it. He never once considered a new car. The money inherited from their parent's death had to last, and he lived in fear every day when he had to spend it on something. But since Vince was their legal guardian, he respected his advice and asked him along to the used car lot. He wanted something that would get him and his brother around, something economical, something affordable, and something that would last for a while.

He fell in love with every car on the lot with a low-price tag, leaving Vince in stitches and shaking his head.

"Brad, use your head. You're an adult now. Act like one. If you bought this piece of junk and broke down, say in the middle of the night, what would you do?" Vince held up his hands and nodded his head. "I know, I know. You'd call me. But what if I wasn't around?"

At Brad's panic-stricken expression, Vince raised his hands again, but this time placed them on Brad's shoulders. "I'm not saying I won't be around, little buddy, I'm just sayin'."

So, Vince convinced him to drop two thousand dollars on a brand-new car. Brad did so with a sick feeling in his stomach. It made him so ill at the time that he didn't think he could drive the VW home with his hands shaking the way they were, and he never spent that kind of money again. But he was so happy with the car that he forgave Vince for talking him into it.

He knew the neighborhood because it was one of Barry's haunts.  he shrugged his shoulders and decided to see if he could find his brother. Unconsciously, Brad rubbed the soreness on his shoulder. Maybe he could make amends.

Besides, Brad reasoned with himself. Barry was not doing so well these days. He needed Brad. He needed someone to keep him from letting that time bomb blow. Hell, they needed each other. They were the only two left. Plus, they had shared a womb. They had to stick together.

Downshifting into second, he pulled the little car into the gravel driveway. Brad could hear the music coming from the stucco house as he stepped from the Beetle. Not good, he thought as he looked at the sun-burned grass and overgrown bushes in the yard. This house had "head" written all over it. Brad didn't even like the feel of the place as he stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.

No answer. Brad waited a few seconds and rang again. When no one answered, he tried the door. It was unlocked.  He swore under his breath.

Pushing the door open, he peered into the dark interior of the house. He could see no one but stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

"Hello?" he called out, barely hearing himself over the loud music. "Dammit, Barry," he cursed under his breath again, the happy feeling leaving him suddenly. Something wasn't right. There was no one here. Something must have gone wrong for all the druggies just to disappear.

He walked through the darkened hallway, kicking beer cans and cigarette butts out of his way. "What a dump," he muttered. He searched the entire house and found no one. He did, however, find the source of the music and turned the stereo off. His ears rang in the sudden silence.

"Barry!" He shouted.

He was getting tired of looking for his brother and was starting to wish he had never come this way. It had been a bad and dangerous idea. Brad didn't even want to be seen with people like this, let alone be in one of their houses.

Brad returned to the hallway and called Barry's name again, quieter this time. Suppose he didn't answer, then to hell with him. Barry could find his own way home. He always did.

Anxious now to get this over with, he quickened his steps. He was already making up his mind to go back to the diner. He wanted to get to know the girl, try to spend some time with her. The few times he was able to ask Kelly anything about her, Kelly had kept his lips locked tighter than Fort Knox. He was no help at all.

Brad peeked his head into the last bedroom and then turned to go before the image lying on the bed registered in his brain.

"Jesus, Barry!" He cried, rushing to the side of the bed.

Barry lay on filthy rumpled sheets that at one time had been white. His eyes were open, his breathing shallow. His skin was cool and clammy to the touch. It was no wonder Brad had not seen him the first time. His skin matched the color of the sheets.

"Barry," Brad grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him hard, then yelled in his ear. "Barry, wake up!"

Barry did not respond. His eyes remained open and sightless, his pupils the size of saucers.

"Oh God," Brad cried. "Somebody help me!"

Lifting Barry under his armpits, Brad managed to pull him off the bed but had to catch his breath before he could move him again. His brother was dead weight.

He peered into Barry's face, but his pallid complexion told him there was no change.

"I'm sorry, Barry," Brad cried softly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be a jerk. I would have given you the money. Just please don't die on me. I don't have anyone else."

Brad took a deep breath, pulled his brother up by the arms again, and dragged him down the rest of the hallway. His bare feet thumped on the concrete steps leading to the car. Heart pounding, thoughts whirling. Brad had to stop again. If he did manage to get his brother in the car, where should he take him? Should he take him home and hope he survives, or should he take him to the hospital, where Barry already had a record of destructive behavior? The hospital would keep him indefinitely and place him in the psychiatric ward.

Somehow Brad found the strength to get Barry up on his feet and shove him in the car, wrapping a seat belt around him to keep him from falling over. He made up his mind to take his brother home and prayed all the way that Barry would make it, and someone would know what to do once he got there.

Brad heaved a deep, guttural cry of relief at the sight of Vince’s black van setting in the driveway. He pulled the VW behind the van, slammed on the parking brake, and raced to the house.

"Vince!" he shouted as he threw the door open.

Vince's head peered out from the kitchen, a sandwich in his hand. The smile left his face as soon as he saw the panic on Brad’s.

"It's Barry!" Brad gasped. "I think he OD'd, Vince, Christ, and I think he's dead!

Without a word, Vince followed Brad to the car and, together, they managed to get Barry into the house.

"Now what?" Brad cried as he watched Vince walk Barry back and forth across the living room.

"He needs a hospital." Vince paused in his stroll and slapped Barry lightly on the face. "Christ, how did you get him in the car by yourself? He's dead weight."

Brad ignored the question. "No hospital," he said instead.

"He needs a hospital." Vince raised his eyebrows as if this were a question.

"No," Brad said. "They'll lock him up in the nuthouse, Vince."

"Maybe they should," Vince answered.

"I'm not gonna let that happen again," Brad said with finality.

Vince glared at Brad, knowing this was one ongoing argument he would eventually lose again. Surrendering, he turned his attention back to Barry.

"Wake up, man," Vince said softly. "Come on, Barry, open them eyes."

Barry's eyelids fluttered but didn't open, and a stream of drool ran down the side of his mouth.

"Wake up, damn you!" Vince shouted in Barry's ear. He slapped Barry harder, and Brad flinched. "You want to visit the hospital, Barry, hmm, want to go see the nice doctors?"

Once again, Barry's eyelids fluttered open. His eyes were glazed, but to Brad, it looked like Barry was starting to fight.

"Go run a tub of cold water," Vince ordered Brad, dragging Barry toward the bathroom. He set him down on the toilet seat and, with one swift movement, pulled Barry's shirt over his head. Barry was as lifeless as a rag doll.

"He's not gonna be very happy with me tomorrow," Vince chuckled. He stood Barry up and stripped his jeans down his legs, then slid him into the ice-cold water.

Barry twitched but didn't struggle as Brad had expected he might. He grew more concerned. "What's happening?" he asked Vince in a whisper.

With a deep sigh, Vince turned to Brad. "Don't know yet. He has to fight, but I think he's still too stoned to move much. This cold water should help bring him around, but it's not a quick and easy fix."

"Do you think. . ." the question hung heavy in the air. Brad didn't have the heart to finish it.

"He's gonna be alright," Vince assured him and ruffled Brad's hair. "He won't be a happy camper, but he will live. That is," Vince finished. "until I beat the hell out of him for this stunt. He knows better than to mess with heroin. Christ look at these tracks," he finished, holding Barry's arm up to the light and studying the puncture wounds.

Brad stayed silent about his tracks. There was no need for him to confess just yet since no one ever saw him without a shirt on. There were so many times he wanted to, but he couldn't. Vince would knock the hell out of him, too. Not only that, but the disrespect and disappointment that Brad could imagine on Vince's face would be more than he could bear.

"Well," Vince said, draining the water from the tub. "Now, we wait."

Vince hauled Barry from the bathtub while Brad went for his brother’s robe. Between the two of them, they walked Barry around the living room until he was conscious enough to be put to bed. Vince tucked him in with a stern warning before closing the door behind him.

"Okay, little buddy," he turned to Brad. "It's your turn to babysit now. I'm going to grab a little shut-eye before I head to the hospital. One of us has to work for a living."

Brad smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Vince."

Vince waved a hand in dismissal. "Just keep a close eye on him for the next day or so. I'll stop back tonight after work and look in on you guys. Just don't leave him alone."

"I won't," Brad promised. He followed Vince to the front door and, after he left, closed and locked it behind him.

Brad leaned heavily against the door and let his eye wander toward the hallway where Barry slept in his bed. He felt the resentment building deep inside. His brother just cost him another missed opportunity due to another one of his episodes. One in so many Brad had lost count. Brad wanted so badly to go back to the diner. Now that would have to wait, and for how long, he didn't know.

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