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Woo hoo!  Here's an update, enjoy!  Just so you know, this chapter is quite depressing and a little long.

Does Mike Know?

Billie Joe’s P. O. V.

I needed to get out of the house.  Mike had been here over two weeks, and to tell you the truth, it was suffocating me.  Mike’s my best friend, and he always will be, but I need my space too.  Adrienne was in one of her ‘moods’ so I didn’t exactly want to be around her either.  

I was sitting on the couch, thinking I might go out for a drink, when August wobbled over to me.  “Uncle Billie,” she asked, reaching for me, “Can I go to the park?”  She had something all over her fingers, it looked like peanut butter, and it was smeared all around her face.  

Adrienne came rushing in through the door connecting the kitchen and the living room.  She swooped up August in her arms.  “There you are,” she said breathlessly.  “Billie Joe, you didn’t let August touch anything, did you?”  

I shook my head.  “No.  She asked me if she could go to the park.”  
Adrienne smiled.  “That would be nice.  I need to get her out of my hair, figuratively and literarily.”  August was reaching for one of Adrienne’s dreadlocks, her fingers still covered with peanut butter.  Adrienne tilted her head and twisted her neck so August couldn’t reach her.  “Billie Joe,” she said, “just take her.  I need to sit.  Take the boys too.”

Adrienne handed August to me, then collapsed on the couch.  August reached for my hair, smearing it with peanut butter.  I grimaced in disgust.  I carried August into the kitchen and cleaned her up, as well as myself.  When we were nice and clean, I called down Joey and Jakob.

“Boys, we’re going to the park, come on.”  

“But dad,” Joey yelled back, “we don’t want to go.”

“Too bad.  Come down here.”

Several minutes later, they came down the stairs, shoulders hunched and frowns on their faces.  “Stand up straight,” I told them.  They didn’t.  I sighed.  “Ready?”

They mumbled yes, I scooped up August, and we were out the door.

Later…

The park was really crowded, more crowded than I thought.  I wanted to sit down, but all the benches were full, all except one.  A teenage girl was sitting on it, smoking a cigarette.  She looked familiar, like I’d seen her before.  Then I realized, it was Estelle.  

“Joey,” I said, “you’re going to be in charge of everyone.  I’ll be right over there on this bench, if you need me.”  Joey nodded and led everyone to the swings.

I approached Estelle and took a seat next to her.  “Hey,” I said smiling at her.  

“Hey,” she said dully, taking a drag off of her cigarette.  

“I like your shirt,” I said, pointing to it.  She was wearing a faded pink Beatles t-shirt, with a black jacket over it.  

“Thanks,” she said in the same dull way.  

I tried to make conversation.  “What’s your favorite Beatles song?”  

Estelle shrugged, she seemed annoyed.  I left her alone.  I watched her finish her cigarette, grind it out in the dirt, and then light another one.  I couldn’t help myself from asking.  “How many of those do you smoke a day?”

She shrugged again.  “It depends on my mood.”

“You know those things are really bad for you, right?”

Estelle smiled slyly.  “We all have to die somehow.  This is how I’m choosing to go.”

“Estelle, you should-’’

She scowled.  “What are you bitchin’ at me for?  You can talk.  As I recall, you used to suck these things down like air.  You said they were like heaven or something.”

I frowned.  “Yeah, I used too.  Not anymore, I’ve cut way down.”  

Estelle laughed bitterly.  “Whatever.”

We were silent for a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts.  

“Why are you here?” I asked suddenly.  She wasn’t expecting it; she jumped in her seat a little.  

Estelle scoffed.  “Why do you think?  To get away from her.”

“Brittney?”

“Who else?  I don’t want to be around her, she hates me and I hate her.”

“That’s what Mike tells me.”

Estelle laughed.  “Oh, he’s caught on has he?”  When she finished her cigarette, she folded her arms and closed her eyes.  She leaned her head back so it was resting on the top of the bench.

I sighed.  “Oh come on Estelle, she can’t be that bad.”  

Once I said that, her eyes snapped open.  She sat up quickly and spun around to face me.  Her face suddenly turned bright red and her eyes were boring into mine.  I leaned back, afraid she was going to slap me.  Instead, she calmed down and buried her face in her hands.  Then, she started crying.

She brought her face up and I saw big fat tears running down her face, along with black mascara lines.  
           
“Estelle, I’m sorry.”    

She grabbed my arm and held fast to it, like a frightened child.  She leaned towards me and buried her head into my shoulder, her tears making a wet spot on my shirt.  I still wasn’t sure if I’d said anything wrong.  Estelle sobbed louder and louder, never letting my arm go.  I tried to calm her down, I ran my fingers through her hair, rubbed her back, anything to make her stop crying.  

When she finally stopped crying, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.  She wiped away several remaining tears, and then sighed, still holding my arm.  I was silent, I wanted her to talk, wanted to know what was going through her head.  

“It’s worse now that dad’s gone,” Estelle whispered, staring off into space.  

I looked at her, trying to make eye contact, but she kept on talking, as if I wasn’t there.  “Brittney, she, well, she hits me.  She yells at me, things like that.”  I didn’t understand, there were no bruises or cuts on her face.

“Estelle, there are no marks on your face.”  

She nodded sadly.  “I know.  Brittney never hits my face, sometimes my back, but always my arms.  I mean, I’m sort of used to it by now.”  

Used to it?  What the hell did that mean, had this been going on for a long time?  My gaze drifted from her tear-stricken face down to her arms.  They were covered by her black jacket.  No wonder she was wearing one.  I reached out, tried to pull up her sleeves, but she scooted away.  “Stop,” she said firmly.  “Please don’t tell Mike I told you.”  

“Does Mike know?”

Tears started forming in Estelle’s eyes again.  “I told him once, but he didn’t believe me.  He called me clumsy, that I must have fallen.  He said that Brittney was never capable of something like that, even when she drinks.  I’ve never told him again.”  

I ran my fingers through my hair.  “Oh God, Estelle, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged.  “It’s not your fault.”  

“Do you want me to tell Mike, he might believe me?”

Estelle turned quickly to face me again, her eyes wide with fear.  She stared shaking.  “Please don’t,” she begged.  “Then he’d tell Brittney and she might get worse.  Promise you won’t tell.”

I hesitated for a minute.  “But, this is important.”  She slouched in her seat, scowling.  “Fine.”  

I threw my hands up, defeated.  “Okay, okay, I won’t tell Mike.”  

Estelle sat up happily and looked into my eyes.  “Thanks.”  

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