Heroes at Heart

Three: Max Owens

When we finally got home, there was music coming from inside the house; music that could only be described as the singing of angels. My mom and I stopped at the door to listen for a moment, before walking inside. The music stopped immediately. I could hear shuffling coming from upstairs, as my little sister quickly tried to pretend she had been doing something else.

"Clare, that was beautiful," I called up the stairs.

"No," was the only response.

Clare Evangeline Owens, my little sister, was born without her left leg. And at twelve years old, she's realized that people don't treat her like everyone else. They don't bully or taunt her, they're just... nice. Too nice. They never criticize her for anything, because god forbid they're "rude" to the disabled girl. Clare's even tried messing up on purpose, and she always gets a positive reaction.

So even though her voice is amazing, she won't sing in front of anyone. She wants genuine feedback, and she doesn't trust people enough to give it to her.

"Clare, come downstairs for dinner," my mom called, scooping spaghetti from the saucepan to the plates that were set out on the counter.

That was when I realized something wasn't right. Mom had been at work all day. How had she had time to prepare dinner? Unless she hadn't gone to work today...

I shook the thought from my head. After all, I had nothing to worry about. Mom had been a hostess at Red Robin for as long as I could remember; they would have no reason to fire her now.

But the thought that something was wrong still buzzed in the back of my mind.

I could hear Clare coming down the stairs. She grabbed herself a glass of water, before taking a seat at the dining room table. I helped mom with the plates, before doing the same.

"Mom, I thought you weren't going to be able to pick me up today?" Clare asked. Mom glanced over at her from across the table. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but I thought Becca's mom was taking me home?"

Another red flag. Mom was supposed to take me to city hall right after work, and she definitely wouldn't have had time to get Clare.

What if you're right? My mind seemed to taunt. Has your mother ever missed a day of work? That was a valid point. Even when she was sick, mom always showed up at her job with a smile on her face.

"I thought it would be a nice surprise," mom said. She smiled slightly, but it was forced. My mother was keeping something from us, and I think I knew what it was.

We ate in silence for several minutes, Clare and I likely both thinking the same thing.

"I didn't want you guys to worry," mom started. There was a bit of a pause, before she finally continued. "I was laid off today. But don't worry," she added quickly. "I'm already looking for a new job. There's a spot open at one of the restaurants downtown, and I'm going to apply there tomorrow."

Clare and I were silent. Mom's job as a hostess, though she tried to hide it, barely provided enough money as it was. And she had been working there for nearly ten years.

Mom forced a smile again. "Don't worry guys, seriously. We'll be okay."

___________________________

That night, I couldn't sleep. My mind refused to stop thinking about the situation we were in: my single mother was now without a job, while trying to raise two kids. There had to be something I could do to help.

At fifteen, I was too young to get a job. Maybe I could mow lawns for the neighbors, or sell my baseball cards? No. Because in the back of my mind, I knew there was only one option. And it was sitting on my desk.

I quietly slipped out of bed, and turned on my desk-lamp. The manila envelope was right where I had left it. I opened it to find nothing but a mugshot. I had seen Vinicus on the news several hundred times, but nonetheless, I studied his picture. He appeared to be in his early twenties, with messy black hair, and green eyes. He wore a scowl on his pale face, and it appeared as though he was wearing black clothes. The lines on the wall beside him told me he would be about five foot ten. My height.

But what caught my attention wasn't the mugshot. It was what was printed below it.

"Vinicus Cauldwell: Wanted dead or alive. Reward: 10,000 dollars."

And in that moment, I knew what I had to do.