Chapter Text
Jack's stump aches. The pressure changes of flying always do that. He's on a plane, headed west, with Robby beside him. He's on this plane to go meet his little brother, whom he hasn't seen in 35 years. He's on this plane, moreover, because it would seem that Robby must also have a long-lost sibling in the California prison system.
Someone who works too hard, cares too much, and doesn't know when to quit.
At least that's all Jack can figure about Andrew's social worker. How else would someone have gone to the lengths to find out that Andrew Cody actually had another brother who emancipated himself when he was 14, find said older brother multiple decades later living on the opposite side of the country under a different name (a deliberately common name), and convince a parole board, a judge, and not least of all Jack and Andrew, that when the time came for his parole he should be released to the custody of his older brother and get as far away as possible from the rest of his family.
Antoinette had arranged for Andrew's parole date to be moved by a week, minimizing the chance that any of the rest of his family would crash the party. She got him a parole officer set up in Pittsburgh, lined up a doctor that would take over his prescriptions, and even sent Jack the contacts he needed for an expedited name change for Andrew with the paperwork partially filled out.
Jack saw Robby in each small, bureaucratic mountain she moved. Arm wrestling with the universe, saying, I know I can't save them all, but this one. This one gets to live.
They've been arranging this for months; now he's on the plane, and it still doesn't feel real.
Robby's hand squeezes Jack's good knee, which is bouncing so hard it's vibrating their row of seats.
“Sorry.”
“It's okay. I know you're anxious.” Robby turns his hand over and Jack takes it.
By all rights Robby should be asleep; they had caught a red eye after his shift ended. Jack hasn't slept in going on 36 hours, but he's always a night owl.
“Do you want to tell me about him?” Robby asks softly, blending into the plane noise. It has become their shorthand over the past few months to invite Jack to talk out some of his fears, and fill Robby in on more of his past. The parts he never told anyone.
They've been best friends for 20 years and happily married for seven, and until this started he’d still never told Robby more about his childhood than that he was from California and he was estranged from his family for a good reason. Until the last few months when it all suddenly became very relevant.
Jack had sorted through most of it with his therapist, and with Robby, holding him from behind so Jack didn't have to look him in the eye. The major concerns were fairly easy to identify. What if he is violent? Am I bringing someone dangerous into our home? What if he brings the rest of the family to my doorstep?
Antoinette had a careful way of maintaining HIPAA while letting him read between the lines that Jack was all too familiar with from the hospital. In her emails she reassured him in her careful saying-it-but-not-saying-it way that Andrew was different and that his personality had made him vulnerable to manipulation, as well as abuse, by his family. The prison psychologist, as well as herself, felt it was very unlikely he would ever be violent away from their coercion.
Jack could hear neurodivergent without her having to actually say it. And looking back with adult eyes he could see the signs, in a little boy who had toe-walked and had not talked until he was three and a half, when he spontaneously started speaking in complete sentences.
–
Mr Abbot,
I've attached two PDF files of short books we normally recommend to families about helping the incarcerated reintegrate back into normal life. Let me know if you have any questions.
I'm glad you asked about Mr. Cody's preferences. I asked him some of your questions when we visited today. He doesn't have any food allergies, and he says he likes sandwiches. He wears a medium or large in shirts. He doesn't know his measurements for pants. (Based on your photos for the hospital website I would guess your stuff will fit him). He doesn't know his shoe size, but I traced his foot on a piece of paper (attached). He says he likes dark colors.
Please don't hesitate to reach out with questions,
Antoinette Fisher, MSW
Deptartment of Corrections, CA
Jack has rarely been paralyzed by indecision. He makes life or death decisions at work all day long. He once had to pick out his wife's casket, for god sakes. So it doesn't make any sense that he's gone out shopping for Andrew three times and come back empty-handed all three.
Robby gets two beers into him and sits sideways on the sofa, Jack in front of him pulled back into his chest. “Tell me about him.”
“Andrew deserves his own clothes,” Jack says almost angrily. Defensively. “I really want him to be able to pick them out. And he could wear my clothes until we're able to go shopping, but wearing a stranger's clothes feels weird.” He presses his head back against Robby’s chest. “We're strangers. I haven't seen him in 35 years. The only adult photo I've seen is his mugshot.”
Robby’s hand on his chest rubs soothing circles and the other one slides into Jack's hand. “We'll just buy a few basics to start, and then you can take him shopping.”
“I think he's autistic. What if I get things that are the wrong texture? Should I wash them or would he rather know that they're brand new, with tags on?”
Robby’s arm squeezes tightly around his chest. “I think he'll be glad you thought about him. I also think this isn't really about the clothes.”
Jack sighs hard. ”He's my little brother. And I know nothing about him.” He snorts, “except for his rap sheet.” Robby just holds him tighter.
Two days later when Jack gets home from work there's a Target bag sitting in the middle of the coffee table. One pack of black ankle socks, one pack of black boxer briefs, three solid color t-shirts in dark shades, gray sweat pants, navy blue track pants, and a pair of sneakers.. Everything tagless, with wide elastic waistbands and minimal seams.
‘You didn't have to do that,’ He texts Robby.
‘I know. But it was something I could do.’
‘Do you think I should wash them?’
‘I don't know… let me ask Mel.’
–
Andrew's clothes have been washed and dried and packed into a new black backpack along with toiletries, currently stuffed under the seat in front of Jack's feet.
He leans over far enough to press his forehead against Robby's shoulder. The one worry he had always been too afraid to give voice to is getting louder in his mind as the plane goes west.
“What if he's angry at me?” He whispers. “He was just a little boy and I left him with her. And now it sounds like his whole life has been a nightmare. What if he blames me?”
Robby kisses his forehead and then tips his own head over to lie on top of Jack’s. “That is always a possibility, I don't think it's very likely. But if he is, then we'll deal with it. We'll all talk about it.”
“I should have taken them with me,” he mumbles.
“Jack,” Robby squeezes his hand. “How? You were just a child yourself.”
“I could have; him and Julia. They were only five, I could have just picked them up and walked out with them.”
“And then what? Legally, practically, there was no way you could take them. You did the only thing you could do by getting yourself out of that situation.”
Jack scoffs.
“No, listen to me. You couldn't have saved them back then. You would have been a teenager alone on the streets trying to take care of two little kids. You might have survived, but you wouldn't have been able to join the military, or go to school. None of you had anywhere else to go. But now, because you saved yourself, you're going to be able to help him escape. He has a safe place to go, because you made one.”
Jack squeezes his eyes shut hard, feels a couple of tears ooze onto Robby’s shirt anyway. “Do you ever worry that he might be too damaged, too broken, to recover? Am I getting us into something that's going to ruin our lives?”
“No,” Robby says immediately. Jack makes an interrogative noise. “For one thing, worrying about it won't change anything. But more importantly, he's your brother. You're easy to love Jack, and I bet he will be too. If he is anything like you he'll be a fighter. Antoinette said he's a survivor.” Robby nudges him with his shoulder until he can look Jack in the eyes. “You have never let me believe that I was a lost cause. So I'm going to do that for him now.”
Jack feels his eyes stinging with tears and presses them back into Robby’s shoulder. “I don't deserve you.”
Robby kisses his head. “You most definitely do. But I'll admit it's nice to be able to pay back some of the support you've given me.”
–
It's a five and a half hour flight to California, but with the time zones they’ve only lost two and a half hours of clock time when they land at 2 a.m.. They had discussed possibly getting a hotel in San Francisco and sleeping a few hours before the drive to Folsom, but both of them are completely wired. Robby slides into the driver's seat of their rental car and Jack props his stump up on the dash and they set off into the night.
An hour and a half later they arrive in Sacramento, where they do rent a hotel, just to show a good faith effort at sleep.
Robby finds a 24-hour diner with sticky formica tables and cracked vinyl booths. It's the kind of place where people genuinely couldn’t care less if Jack takes his leg off and props it in the seat beside him, which he immediately does.
The yawning waitress who takes their order doesn't even give the leg a second look, and the few other patrons are too deep in their own 4 a.m. thoughts.
Robby moves the leg to the opposite side of the booth and slides in next to Jack, motioning for him to put his residual limb up on his lap, which he does. Robby dips a napkin into his water to dampen it and wipes over Jack's stump, getting the worst of the sweat off. Then he starts a gentle massage, starting just above Jack's knee and moving down.
“You want to check on your girl?” Robby asks.
Jack looks slightly embarrassed, but he unlocks his phone and opens the camera in their living room. It's later back home and daylight is already streaming through the large windows. A fat calico cat sits on an armchair by the window giving herself a bath. She's sitting up on her behind like a human with her broad stomach on display. She props her single back leg behind her head and tries to lick herself, straining across her belly.
“That's your baby,” Robby laughs and Jack elbows him.
“Stop it. You know hormones are hard on women after a hysterectomy.” Robby watches Jack's face soften and relax as he watches the cat groom herself.
10W-40 was part of a litter of kittens born in Duke's garage; a stray cat had made her nest in a discarded oil pan. Ten had an unfortunate encounter with a fan belt resulting in an amputation and Robby had been compelled to bring her home. Despite that, she was undoubtedly Jack's cat.
“She's going to be so confused when we bring home someone new.” Jack says.
“I think she'll be pleased. More laps to sit in. Someone new to beg for food.”
“I hope Andrew isn't allergic to cats.”
Robby rubs deep circles into Jack's scar-line, pulling his attention. “Is this what it's like for you when you tell me to stop worrying and I can't?” Jack sticks his tongue out at him.
The food comes quickly and they turn to plates of eggs, bacon, and hash browns sweating grease. Jack keeps his leg draped over Robby's and props the phone against his water glass to watch Ten.
When the clock hits 5 a.m. in Sacramento and 9 in Pittsburgh the automatic feeder goes off. Ten jolts into frantic movement, struggling like a turtle on its back for a couple of seconds before getting all three legs under her and launching off the chair like a furry cannon ball.
Robby chuckles but holds his tongue at Jack's glare. Tactfully, he changes the subject. “I know you probably can't sleep, but we at least need to go by the hotel to clean up. I'm not meeting my brother-in-law smelling like bacon grease and secondhand smoke.”
–
August 5th, 10 a.m.
300 Prison Road, Represa California
Gate 3
Stay in the parking area, do not cross the red line.
Mr. Abbot,
Please find above the details regarding Mr. Cody’s release.
Just a few days to go now! I know you are anxious. I think he is too, although he doesn't give much away. He asked me to print off all his flight information and boarding pass for him, so I did.
Unfortunately no, we won't be able to meet when you pick him up. I would very much like to meet you face to face, as well, but policies and all that…
It's been a pleasure to work with you and Mr. Cody, and know that I am wishing you both all the best in the future.
Antoinette Jones, MSW
Department of Corrections, CA
PS: Andrew is pretty slow to warm up to new people, just give him time. If you get stuck, he likes to talk about animals.
Jack checks Antoinette's latest email one more time, never mind that he practically has it memorized by now. He double checks Andrew's release time and the address. He doesn't think he will sleep, but sets an alarm anyway. Robby snores softly beside him, shower-damp hair tufted up in all directions.
He plugs the address into Waze to verify it's a 30-minute drive and no huge traffic snarls have developed in the middle of nowhere. Three hours until they need to leave.
It's good for Robby to get the sleep. One of them needs to be safe to drive and it clearly isn't going to be Jack. He props the phone on his chest and watches Ten, back in her preferred seat, twitching in her sleep.
–
Andrew looks like a mirage, emerging around the corner of a building. Robby recognizes him immediately, “That's him.”
Jack squints, “How can you tell?”
“He walks exactly like you did before you lost the leg.”
They walk toward him, stopping before the bold red line painted on the sidewalk. As he gets closer Jack can make out more of his features; there's certainly no denying they’re brothers. His hair is still curly but the bright red has darkened to auburn.
Andrew walks quickly, without looking back, until he crosses the red line. “Jack?” His eyes are penetrating, unblinking in the bright sun.
Jack nods. He feels Robby's hand resting on his low back flex. “Hi, Andrew.”
Andrew starts walking toward the parking lot at a slower pace and Jack and Robby turn to follow. “Thank you for coming to get me. Can we go? I don't want to hang around here.”
From behind the gray-blue sweats and shirt he's wearing are baggy and worn.
“Yeah, of course,” Jack says. “Our car is right over here.” Robby leads the way and gets the car cranked and the AC going.
“We're just going back to Sacramento right now, it's about 30 minutes,” Jack explains. Andrew slides into the back seat before Jack can offer him the front. Jack considers for a moment, standing beside the car in a mostly empty parking lot in a mostly empty landscape, then gets into the other side of the back seat before he can talk himself out of it.
Andrew sits with his feet flat on the floor, knees together, a folder of documents and a plastic grocery bag of belongings in his lap. His eyes study every passing car. Jack thinks that he can detect him relaxing minutely as they get on the road and pick up speed.
“Andrew, this is my husband, Michael Robinavich. Everyone calls him Robby.”
Robby makes eye contact through the rearview mirror and raises one hand off the wheel to wave. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Andrew.”
Andrew meets his eyes and nods once.
Jack had a lot of scenarios in his head for how this reunion might go, both good and bad. Somehow, stupidly, he had never thought to plan for this hypervigilance. Andrew's face is steady but he’s tracking everything, body rigid and ready to spring into action. Jack immediately revises their lunch plans, starting a to-go order from his phone for the Italian deli next to the hotel.
Andrew carefully takes the phone from him to place his order, studying it with a grimace for several minutes longer than it should take to pick out a sub. “Shit,” he says finally.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Jack asks, realizing for the first time that he just handed a newly released felon his phone with no supervision.
“I was trying to pay, to enter my credit card. But yours must have already been saved and it just went through.” Andrew glances briefly at him and away as he offers the phone back.
“Oh, no that's–”
“I'll pay you back, I promise.” He’s digging into the grocery bag, pulling out his wallet.
“Andrew, it's okay. I wanted to buy your lunch. You don't owe me anything.”
Andrew narrows his eyes at Jack, putting the wallet down slowly. Jack can tell that he believes him not at all.
Jack tries to remember what it was like for him, when he’d come home from the army with one less leg and a raging case of PTSD. It was nearly two decades ago, and he remembers feeling hunted, paranoid, that nowhere was safe. But they are diluted memories, almost third person, more like something he read in a book about someone else. He remembers it as a fact, but the visceral feeling of the emotion is gone. In general, Jack is very glad for that distance, the healing effect of time. He still dreams about it sometimes and that's more than enough.
Now he finds himself trying to open up boxes and turnover stones he compartmentalized away a long time ago, looking for something to help him relate to Andrew. Robby would be better at this. He was the one who led Jack through it, luring him back into the world like a feral cat.
Right on cue Robby clears his throat, “Hey Andrew?” Both brothers look up. “Just to fill you in on the plan for the rest of the day, after we eat lunch I need to sleep a bit more so I can drive us. You can take a shower, or a nap. We have some different clothes for you if you'd like. We will need to leave about 3 to head back to San Francisco and our flight home leaves at 7.”
Andrew nods once. Jack can't tell if he's pleased with this plan or not.
–
The afternoon passes similarly, mostly in tense silence. After they eat Robby puts in ear plugs and passes out. Jack dozes lightly while Andrew takes a long shower. He's just hit 48 hours awake and that combined with the adrenaline crash of finally having Andrew out of that place is hitting hard.
His eyes crack open when Andrew comes out of the bathroom freshly shaved and dressed in his new clothes. They fit him pretty well. “That's better,” Jack says and Andrew's mouth quirks the tiniest bit at the side.
“Thanks.” He hangs his towel on the rack and sits down on the empty bed. He dumps out the grocery bag and starts packing his belongings into his new backpack along with the extra clothes.
“I put the TV on National Geographic, but you're welcome to change it if you want,” Jack says. “I think we're basically going to do this for a couple more hours,” he waves a hand across Robby's sleeping form.
“This is good.” Andrew sits, straight backed, on the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off.
“If you look in the front zipper pocket of your backpack there's a box. That's your new phone.” Jack says, “It's charged, you can set it up.”
Andrew quickly finds the box and opens it, sliding out a new iPhone. “Are you messing with me?”
“No? What do you–”
“I can't– it will take me a while to pay you back for this. You know I don't have– all that money, I don't have access to it.” Andrew’s jaw and his grip on the phone are tight.
“No, no. Andrew,” Jack swings his legs off the side of the bed and sits up, elbows leaning on his knees. “This is a gift. You don't owe me anything, no strings. I'm not keeping score.”
“Why?” Andrew asks, turning the phone over in his hand.
“I figured if you want to start over clean you'd need a new phone.”
“No, I mean why,” he gestures at himself.
“Andrew, you're my brother,” Jack's voice breaks a little bit on that word, that he has applied to so many men over the years who were like family, but not.
“When I left–” Jack starts. Andrew gives him a sharp look. “When I left back then, there were people who helped me. Just out of the kindness of their hearts because I needed help. Let me help you, okay?”
Andrew doesn't reply, but he eases back to lean against the pillows and swings his leg up onto the bed, turning on the phone. After a minute Jack lays down again.
He dozes to the soothing voice of David Attenborough talking about whales.
–
The airport is loud and chaotic. Andrew is immediately back on his guard and Robby and Jack move to keep him between them. Jack never takes advantage for himself, but for Andrew’s sake he unapologetically plays the disabled veteran card. Robby tactfully doesn't say anything, but his eyes are speaking volumes, as Jack lets a porter push him in a wheelchair, getting them a fast pass through the security area.
In record time they are settled at their gate. Jack sends the porter away, assuring him that he can walk short distances and will manage it from here. The man thanks him for his service and Jack gives him a smile that Robby can tell us is mostly gritted teeth.
“You lost your leg in the war?” Andrew asks once they're alone.
Jack nods, pulling his pants leg back down to hide the prosthetic he had temporarily had on display. “It's really not that big of a deal. As you have seen, I can walk just fine. I just wanted to get us through security faster, without all the yelling.”
Seated on Andrew's other side, Robby leans across to say, casually, “I think that's the first time I've ever seen you allow yourself to be pushed while you were fully conscious.”
Jack glares at him. “It's fine.”
Robby, wisely, leans back and opens his book.
–
Jack is asleep before boarding is even finished. Robby convinced him to take the single seat with extra leg room, so he could stretch his leg out. Robby and Andrew are seated next to each other, Andrew by the window so he can look out.
“Does he normally sleep this much?” Andrew cranes his neck to look at Jack two rows back, arms folded and chin tucked against his chest.
“No, not at all,” Robby chuckles. “He was really anxious about coming here and didn't sleep for a few days. Since we picked you up I think the anxiety has settled and he's finally sleeping.”
Andrew turns back to the window, studying the ground crew loading baggage. “That doesn't make sense. If he was scared of me, why is he sleeping better now?” He mumbles without turning back.
“Oh, no, Andrew. He wasn't scared of you,” Robby says, “he was scared for you. He was worried about us getting here and making sure everything went well and we could take you home.” Andrew’s jaw flexes, still facing the window.
He’s silent for long enough that Robby goes back to pretending to read his book while observing him. Sometimes Andrew unlocks his phone to Google something for a minute before looking back out the window.
“Have you ever flown before?” Robby asks quietly, looking past him out the window. Andrew shakes his head. “Are you nervous?”
Andrew shakes his head again, “I'm excited.”
“It's pretty cool. Hopefully we'll get a good view of the bay and the bridge as we take off.”
Andrew points to the baggage handlers pulling back their conveyer belt. “Did you know only 0.65% of bags are misdirected? They use the bar codes to keep them organized.”
“I didn't know that; that's pretty impressive. Sure feels like it happens more often than that.”
“Your bag’s been lost before?” Andrew sounds genuinely interested.
“Yeah,” Robby chuckles. “Spent a whole week in New Orleans with only one change of clothes. I had to wash my underwear in the sink every night. My suitcase caught up with me the day I flew back.”
“Why didn't you just buy more clothes?” Andrew wrinkles his nose.
“It was a long time ago; I was a poor med student. At the time I’d rather spend what little money I had on booze.”
“That's gross,” Andrew says.
Robby shrugs, “Yeah, it was. I was.” Andrew eyes him. “I grew up, I promise!” He defends himself.
When the flight attendants give their safety spiel Andrew pays rapt attention and afterward studies the airplane information pamphlet in the back of the seat.
They taxi around to line up by the runway. “You know, if you take that they'll just replace it with another one. It's a pretty cool souvenir.” Andrew glances around at the flight attendants and when Robby looks back the pamphlet has disappeared.
He holds out two sticks of gum, “I have Big Red or Juicy Fruit. It'll help your ears adjust to the altitude.”
Andrew takes the Juicy Fruit. Robby pops the Big Red in his mouth as their plane turns onto the runway.
The plane picks up speed, shuddering and bouncing as it fights gravity. Robby presses himself back into his chair, Andrew stares out the window wide-eyed. As the nose lifts off and Robby feels the g-forces pressing on him, Andrew's hand flies to the armrest, gripping Robby’s wrist. He yanks it back after a second.
“It's ok, this is normal,” Robby says “It always feels a little bit hairy on take off.” He reaches over to find Andrew’s arm and squeezes it twice. The plane levels out of its steep climb and Andrew watches out the window as it arcs around the bay and turns east, toward home.