That One Day (That One #1.5) (32 page)

The flight to Detroit is pure torture. It feels like it takes for-fucking-ever. I try to occupy myself with Archer’s fascination over everything on the plane, but I don’t manage to focus for long. I’m nervous. Really fucking nervous. Not knowing how my mom or Ron will react is nerve-racking.

A part of me is still mad they lied to me, knowing this shit would have never happened if I would have known the truth from the beginning. But if I’m honest with myself, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same if it came to Archer. It’s not an easy conversation.
Hey Son, by the way, this is not really your father. Your real dad is locked up ’cause he tried to kill you. Pass the salt?

It’d be so easy to blame them for Noah’s actions and I really want to. But I can’t. They did the best they could to protect me. And I was the asshole giving them the middle finger as a thank you. I hope they can forgive me. I’m not sure how we’re supposed to move past everything, but I guess I owe it to myself and them to try.

***

When the taxi pulls up to the curb in front of the house I grew up in, my stomach is tight with anxiety. I’m sure by the time we’re at the front door, I’ll have puked out the cheap peanuts Frankie forced me to eat on the plane.

She senses my trepidation and pulls me close, which is just as well because I’m five seconds from getting back into the taxi and telling the driver to haul ass.

“It’s going to be okay. They love you. They are your parents. I love you. And I’m here for you. So is Archer.”

With Archer in Frankie’s arms, we head for the door hand in hand. She doesn’t let me go for even a second. The suitcase with the travel crib fastened to it is in my other hand, and I’m holding on so tight my nails dig into the palm of my hand.

Walking up the step, I recall the last time I’d seen the house and my mother crumpled on the ground, watching me disappear. Guilt and shame hit me, making my hold on Frankie’s hand stronger. I’m a fucking mess. She squeezes my hand back in encouragement, but it does nothing to calm me down.

Before I can overthink the situation, the door flies open and my mom throws herself at me, hugging me so close I can barely breathe. Her whole body is shaking with sobs. I’m not sure what to do. It feels foreign, like I don’t deserve it. But fuck, I need it. After everything that happened, I need my mother. I need her hugs and her love. So letting the suitcase fall to the ground, I hug her close, holding on.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I mutter, emotions choking me.

I feel her shake her head against me. “No, I’m sorry, Benny. So sorry.”

I hold her close, rubbing my hand up and down her back, while trying not to cry myself. She hasn’t called me
Benny
since I was ten years old and told her it was a baby’s name and not cool enough.

We stand like this until her sobs have subsided. She pulls back, looking at me, a wistful smile on her face before she lets go and turns around to hug Frankie.

Reluctantly, I look up and see Ron walking toward me. I don’t know what he’ll do. Will he kick the shit out of me for hurting my mom, for being an ungrateful fuck? He’s always been there for me. Every freaking moment of my life, no matter how much of a little shit I was. And I left to find a father who never fucking wanted me. I couldn’t blame him if he kicked me out and told me to get lost.

I want to say something, but he doesn’t give me a chance. When he’s in front of me, he pulls me to him, his big, rough hands clapping my back. “Welcome home, Son.”

Hearing those words nearly brings me to my knees, relief flooding through my veins. All my fears and worries dissipate with those three words and I hold onto Ron, my dad, not fighting the tears anymore. Right now, I don’t feel like the grownup man with a woman and a little son at his side. I feel like the little boy who just needs his dad to make things better, and the man who’s holding me up is the one who has always done it. We might not share the same DNA, but he’s always been my father.

I know Frankie and everyone back in Northampton have been there for me, but it’s not the same. It’s a fucking lonely feeling without parents. In this moment, in my dad’s arms, I finally grasp the depth of their unconditional love for me.

He pats my back with one hand, and pulls my head closer with the other, letting me just get it all out. Only once I’m somewhat steady and controlled, he suggests we go inside, pulling me with him as he goes.

We sit down at the little round kitchen table, Frankie with Archer at my side, my parents across from us. It’s the same table I was sitting at when everything unraveled and I thought shit couldn’t get worse. Noah proved me wrong.

We need to talk. I need to get shit off my chest and ask questions. The answers will determine if I can stay with Frankie or if I’m a fucking train wreck waiting to happen.

My hands are clammy and my pulse is pounding away in sync with the bouncing of my leg. Though it doesn’t calm my nerves, it gives me the nudge to start talking when Frankie puts her hand on my knee.

“Noah escaped the hospital and came to our house.” It dawns on me that I’ve gradually gone from calling him dad, to calling him father, and now he’s just Noah. No one who tries to hurt his child is a real father. The fact that he made me doesn’t change this. He’s nothing more than the sperm donor—not a father.

I don’t look up, but I hear my mother gasp.

I need to power through this. Talking about it is fucking hard.

“He attacked Archer…he…fuck…he tried to kill him.” I swallow hard, trying to get the anger and pain swirling around under control. I haven’t actually expressed it this clearly. Never said those words, always using some kind of description instead.

“He also told us he tried to kill me.”

“Oh God, Ben, I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I should have warned you.” Between sobs, my mom reaches over the table, taking my hand and holding it like a vise.

I remember the day when I got the letter, remember how she tried to talk to me. Even if she would have told me the whole truth, I would have considered her a liar. I was falling apart and I wanted to hate her for lying to me. Back then, I didn’t want to see she might have had a reason for it.

“I wouldn’t have believed you anyway. I was too angry, too blind. Mom, I’m sorry.”

My mom’s frail frame is shaking with tears. She looks a mess and if not for Dad at her side, I think she’d crumble to pieces.

They both look at Archer, cradled in Frankie’s arms, oblivious to the emotions churning in the room. Worry and love for my son is written all over their faces. Dad nods toward him. “Is Archer okay? Did he get hurt?”

Frankie answers, telling them he is okay. That he only had some bruises but nothing serious—thanks to the cop and me. She fucking paints me as a hero in this, which couldn’t be further from the truth. My dad doesn’t let me ponder on this, though.

Grabbing my free hand, he asks, “What about you, Son? How are you coping?”

Sighing loudly, I contemplate how to answer, how much to tell them of how I’ve been feeling since it happened. “Not well…” I start, but pause, searching for the right words. Dad squeezes my hand and the pain, guilt, and shame I’ve been bottling up, tumble out. “Dad, he lied to me from the start. Every-fucking-thing he said was nothing but a lie. And I was stupid enough to believe him. If I hadn’t, if I would have listened to Mom, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Closing my eyes I drop my head, waiting for them to tell me it’s my fault. It’s only when I feel someone’s hands on my thigh that I open them again, seeing my mother crouching next to me. Her eyes bore into mine while she takes my face between her hands, not allowing me to look away.

“You listen to me, Benjamin. None of this is your fault. None of it. We should have told you about him sooner, but we wanted to protect you. Your father…Noah…he’s a very sick man and he’s been like that for a long time. We didn’t want him to hurt you. What he’s done, it was his doing. It was him. Not you Ben. If you want to blame anyone, blame me for not keeping you safe from him.”

I wish it were that easy; that I could put the blame on her. And I’ve done it for so long. But even though she and Dad made mistakes, I was the one who didn’t see through Noah’s fucked-up charade. I didn’t question anything, didn’t try to seek proof of what he told me. I was so fucking eager to believe him, needing to connect with my real father, to find out where I come from and whom I belong to. I didn’t even realize all the bullshit he was feeding me.

Frankie and I tell them every sick, twisted detail of Noah’s surprise visit; it’s a hollow feeling to recount all of it. Again, my heart is yanked out of my chest. Every time Frankie’s voice falters and I pick up, I hate Noah a little more for what he has done to her, to us.

This talk is the equivalent of a big, festering wound I keep pouring salt into. But even though it hurts and makes my head ache, I know it’s necessary.

I’m thankful to see my dad get out the whiskey when we finish our story. I need something to help me numb the pain.

The burn of the alcohol feels like pure bliss, giving me something else to concentrate on than the chaos inside my head. Instead, I can focus on the sting traveling down my throat when I down the glass in one go.

The main reason we came here isn’t to talk about Noah’s attack, but about the more pressing issue I’m not sure how to bring up. I guess I’m scared of the response—because it will determine my future. I can’t look at Mom, who is sitting across from me again, silently crying in Dad’s arms.

Frankie reads my mind and asks the one question that has kept me awake for the past nights.

“We’re having a hard time coping with what happened. But it’s harder for Ben, for many reasons. He’s worried and scared that Noah’s mental illness is genetic and he’ll end up like him.”

After mouthing a
thank you
to Frankie, I turn to my mom. Every single muscle in my body is tense, waiting for the verdict.

“Oh no, God, no. Ben, don’t you worry. You aren’t like him and you won’t be,” my mom says shaking her head and takes ahold of my hand. “It’s not hereditary. Noah had an accident as a child.”

At her response, my muscles relax, some of the tension fleeing my body. I can’t fully believe it yet. Not after everything that happened with Noah. The panic that has dug its claws into me refuses to let go that easily.

I nod at my mom, urging her to continue.

“His parents went to visit relatives who didn’t have a baby gate. He fell down marble stairs, suffered a head trauma. He was in a coma for a few weeks. They didn’t even know if he would pull through. When he woke up, he had changed. According to your grandmother, he started being short-tempered, had mood swings, and was violent at times.”

Her words halt the flood of relief when I realize she has known about his issues and still let me be around him. “You knew? You knew he was crazy?”

My mom shakes her head yet again. “No. Your grandmother told me after I left him. I mean, he had his mood swings, and sometimes a short temper while I was dating him and was married to him, but he was never violent. If I had had any idea…Ben, I would have never left you alone with him. I didn’t think anything of his irritability. I mean we both weren’t getting much sleep after you were born. You have to believe me…there was no indication he would do anything like that.” She looks at me, her eyes pleading to trust and believe her.

A part of me would love to put it all on her. To find flaws in her logic, to make her the bad one. It’d be easier than putting the blame on someone who isn’t of sound mind. Someone I can never hold accountable for the things he has done.

I’ve taken the easy way for long enough. I can’t do that anymore. Not if I want to move on with my life. I get it now. I know she tried her best. She had no way of really knowing her husband was a raging lunatic who would try to kill her baby. Just like I had no idea that letting Noah into my life would end up with him trying to kill Archer.

There are so many what ifs spanning my life. Starting with what if my mom would have left him sooner, ending with what if I would have been home and not went to pick up the gift. There is no point turning in circles.

“I know, Mom. Sorry. I know it’s not your fault. It’s just hard to wrap my head around it all.”

I watch as Frankie prepares Archer’s bottle and passes Archer to my mom so she can feed him. Mom can barely contain her emotions over holding her grandson. I take the opportunity to ask more questions, like why the hell did my grandmother not tell my mom sooner?

“She didn’t want me to leave him because of it. She thought that maybe being in love and happy would balance him out. In a time where mental illness was a taboo, she never looked into any treatment for him, not wanting her son to deal with prejudice and judgment from others. She thought she was doing what was best for him. I can’t blame her though, if she had told me earlier, I would have probably never married him and then I would have never had you, Ben. No matter what happened, you are my everything. And now I have a grandson and a daughter to complete our family.”

I smile at her words, allowing them to finally sink in. I won’t end up like my father. I won’t hurt the people I’m supposed to love and protect. I won’t become a danger, a monster. All the shit that happened, I finally feel like I can deal with it, like I can work through it. I don’t have to fear I could harm Archer or Frankie. For nearly two years, I’ve been picturing myself in a mental hospital sooner or later, wasting away without a purpose. And in the past days, I’ve been petrified to be alone with my own child for fear of repeating my father’s sins. All of this is suddenly gone and I feel like a rock has been taken off my chest. No, not a rock, a fucking mountain. I can finally breathe.