When You Make It Home (24 page)

“Deal.” I didn’t care who he had in bed, other than looking forward to finally meeting her.

By the time Jason had his nose set and was ready to go, it was almost midnight. He looked nasty and probably felt worse. He wasn’t too excited to crash at Steve’s place. The last time they had seen each other was back in college when Jason and I were still an item, but their childhood friendship had already faded to dust.

Steve opened the door, wearing plaid pajama pants and nothing else. Behind him, in the plaid pajama top that came halfway down her thighs, stood Chelsea—my Chelsea—with bed-rumpled hair and a this-is-better-than-cake smile on her face.

“Chelsea? No, no, no.” I turned back to Steve, and my brain snapped the missing pieces together. “Steve, how could you?” I stammered, looking from one to the other. “You are not allowed to sleep with my friends!”

“Keep your deal, or Jason’s going back to your place.” Steve took in Jason’s appearance. “Man, you look like shit.”

Chelsea threw a dispassionate glance at Jason, but rushed out on the porch to hug me. “Be happy for us,” she murmured in my ear as she pulled me inside. “This is a good thing.”

“Okay, okay. If it’s so great, why didn’t you tell me?” I scanned the front room, and the space seemed different. Dad’s presence—his reading glasses on an end table, his shoes left under a chair, the newspaper folded haphazardly on the footstool—helped calm me.

“Because you expect everyone to follow your rules.” Chelsea pulled my focus back on her. “And I didn’t want to tell you. Anyway,
you
had secrets first.” Her sweet voice sounded as childlike as the words she said. “This is between the two of us. We chose to see where this was headed before going public. Plus, all the hush hush of a secret lover—you’re not the only one who gets off on that rush.”

“Ew. Don’t use the phrase ‘getting off’ when you’re talking about Steve.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Come on back.” She strutted down the hall to Steve’s kitchen— the kitchen of my childhood—moving on tiptoe as if wearing invisible high heels, her bare legs sending me in a surreal flashback to when Nina moved in, before she married Dad. I flushed with a territorial heat, but the house I grew up in was no longer mine to claim.

“Don’t be mad, Meg,” Chelsea said when she looked back at me. I would never have placed my dark-haired, saucy friend with my blond jock of a brother. They didn’t match in any way, and they had absolutely nothing in common.

“What do you see in him?” I didn’t mean to imply Steve wasn’t a catch, because he was. But I didn’t think any of my friends were looking to reel him in. I wanted to see it from her angle.

“He’s so sweet and funny and quite the romantic. Plus, he’s amazing in the sack—”

“Stop!” I covered my ears.

“Fine. We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.” Chelsea took my hands and squeezed them in hers. She spoke softly to me, “I make him happy. He’s different with me than the other girls. You’ll see.” I stifled my groan but followed Chelsea back to the living room. I was done. The night had been long enough, and I was ready for a do-over.

Jason sat dazed on the couch next to a blanket and pillow. Since Dad was crashing in Steve’s spare bed, Jason had to make do in the living room. His swollen face looked terrible, but from my experience with Theo and pills I could tell Jason was feeling no pain.

“See you later, Jason,” I said on the way to the door.

He smiled at me and tipped over sideways onto the pillow, curling his feet behind him.

“It’s late. Go home,” Steve said. He put his hand on Chelsea’s hip, pulling her close. “We’ll take good care of him.” He kissed the top of her head, before reluctantly letting her go and following me out into the starlit night.

“Did Theo cool off?” he asked.

“I don’t know. He’s not answering the phone.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe he broke Jason’s nose.”

Steve clutched his middle, laughing.

“What’s funny?”

“I owe Theo a beer. I’ve been wanting to clock that guy good for years.” Steve opened my car door. “I don’t blame Theo. Go easy on him. He means well.”

“I hope this means you’ll be nicer to him.”

“I’ve got nothing against the guy. I’m only looking out for you,” Steve said.

“Well then, go convince Jason he deserved it, so he doesn’t reconsider pressing charges against Theo.”

“Don’t worry about that. Jason will be put in his place in the morning. I’m very much looking forward to it.”

Before I pulled out, Steve told me he’d drop Jason off at my condo in the morning, to get his car. I figured Jason would head home to his wife and weave some kind of story to explain the busted nose and black eyes. He needed to tell her everything, but I knew the truth could sometimes be so frightening you didn’t know how or when to stop running from it. But those were his problems. I had issues of my own to contend with.

Driving along the quiet roads on my way home, I stopped at a red light and saw a man sleeping in the doorway of a church. He was filthy, his clothes stained with dirt and grime. He was somebody’s baby. Where was his family? Why was he stranded? His head rested on a backpack that I realized was identical to Theo’s army pack. Theo had told me how many men came home from war to find out they had nothing worth holding onto. What an insult, to fight for your country—to be willing to give your life, a life surrendered to duty and honor—and after all the sacrifices, your world was you alone with your possessions only piling up high enough to rest your head on.

The man in the silver Volvo behind me honked, and I slammed my foot on the gas, jerking forward, my mind torn away from imagining an unknown man’s desolation and back to the festering turmoil of my own drama.

Lost in my head, replaying the night while the rest of the drive home flashed by, I ended up parked in my lot, brooding. I finally left the car and walked across the lot with my eyes fixed on the condo door. My footsteps echoed, uncanny in the night.

I found Theo hunched over on the floor with a bucket of water, scrubbing away Jason’s bloodstains. Five empty beer bottles lined the coffee table.

“Hi,” I croaked, holding my breath, waiting for him to turn, wordlessly pleading with him to face me.

With a deep, shuddery breath, I edged around him and perched on the sofa to watch. How would we ever shake the gloom that settled all around? He scoured the floor, not daring a glance my way. Despite Theo’s concentration on fixing the mess, his posture screamed of barely bottled rage. His jaw twitched. He clenched a bloodied cloth in his fist, drowning it in the steaming bucket, choking the excess water out of the limp rag, and he continued to scour.

“Theo…”

Pain etched his features, and his eyes slid shut.

I scooted a little closer to him. “You know, Jason has a right to know about the baby.”

His eyes snapped open, and he gave me a curt nod.

“He’s the baby’s father, after all. It’s only natural for him to be curious.”

“
Absolutely
,” he said with an overly agreeable tone that sent the little hairs on the nape of my neck tingling. Still, he would not look at me.

“To be honest, I’m relieved Jason wants to be a part of her life.” I was sure I could convince him—maybe even convince myself—that everything was fine. I looked down at my body, hugging my baby bump. “He
is
a part of her.”

Theo dropped the rag in the bucket, wiped his hands on his shorts. “I’m very aware of that, Meg.” Theo pushed the bucket and scrambled forward. He slid the bucket three feet across the floor and did a modified crawl to the bathroom with both hands on the ground, his single leg extended behind him. His crutches, propped against the sink, mocked us from ten feet away. Absentmindedly, I came up behind him and reached for the bucket.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled.

Stepping back, I cleared my throat and stared while he shuffled to his destination. He poured the rust-colored water into the toilet, tossed the rag in the trash, and sat on the edge of the tub to clean out the bucket. He reached for his crutches, pulled himself up, and washed his hands at the sink. After splashing water on his face, our eyes met in the mirror. I caught him soften for a beat, and then he seemed to look through me.

“Don’t bother with the details.” Theo toweled off. “I get it. He’s the daddy.”

“But that changes
nothing
between us,” I said.

My mother’s abandonment marred my childhood, my entire life. Not having my mother’s love made it hard to believe I was worthy of anyone’s love. I thought about telling Theo how it pulled me down and ripped me to shreds every time I spent the night at a friend’s house or engaged in one of a billion activities that screamed: a mom should be there. But my mom was gone. How could I make Theo understand? This was my lot.

“Jason has nothing to do with you and me.”

He looked at me as if I was crazy, moving past me to the laundry room. He scooped a load out of the dryer into a basket and kicked it across the room. Crutches forward, step, and kick basket onward. I followed him to the bedroom where his duffel bag loomed, half filled, on my bed.

“What is this?” I blurted, putting my hand to my head.

“I’m done with the baby’s room. It’s time for me to go. That was the plan.” His words were spoken like a mantra; he hauled the basket of clothes up, dumping them in a pile on the bed.

Don’t leave me.

“That was the plan?” My voice cracked, eyes burning, my vision blurred.

Finally, Theo touched me—he put his hand on my shoulder. “I lost control. I’m sorry… but I have to go.”

“Put Jason behind us,” I pleaded. “Don’t go.”

Theo gathered his folded boxers and tucked them in his bag. “He’s behind me. His needs don’t concern me, and I don’t see why they concern you either.”

“What about the baby’s needs? She has a right to know the man she came from.” My frustration flared, and I punched his arm so he would look at me. I needed him to see me. “I don’t know what my mother looks like. I can’t remember anything about her, and when I dream, I need to see her face. I want to know why—why she didn’t love me enough to stay. I don’t want my baby to have that kind of life.”

“I know.” Theo’s exhaustion came through in his words. “I don’t want that for her either.” He continued to fold his shirts meticulously, filling out his bag.

“Don’t do this.” I touched his arm, and he flinched.

Don’t leave me.

He moved to the bathroom with his travel bag in hand and loaded up his shaving cream, toothbrush, razor, and deodorant from the vanity. He zipped the bag and tossed it in his duffel bag. “Meg, I have to go. That’s the way it is. I’m in the way, and if I stay, my demons will pull you down.”

“That’s not true!” I wailed, my throat raw. “I want you.” I grabbed his arms, my fingers digging into his biceps, forcing him to look me in the eye. “I am not afraid of your demons—I am not afraid of you.” And finally I let out what I always thought he knew. “I do not care about your leg!”

His face crumbled, his arms came around me, his head fell to my shoulder, breath quickening, deep gulps of air filling his lungs, and his chest heaved. “But I care.” As though the words grounded him, he pulled back, composed. “You’ll be fine.” Theo’s eyes filled with pain. “You’re surrounded by people who care about you. If you need anything, go to Cortez.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“How can I get in touch with you?”

“I’ll call you,” he said. “Trust me—it’s better this way. It will be harder the longer I stay.”

“No Theo, don’t do this to me. I love you. Don’t leave.”

He stopped and turned, took me in his arms, pressed his lips to my hair. I clung to him, scared at how fast he was slipping away. He pulled back. “I love you, too.” He grabbed his bag and left me standing, broken, in the middle of the room.

I stared at the closed door for a minute, and then I went after him. I ran down the front walk. He reversed out of his parking spot, looking in the other direction, so he didn’t see me rush toward him. He glanced my way as he took off toward the exit.

I stopped and cried out. “Wait!” But he picked up speed. Before he turned onto the main road, he looked into the rearview mirror. Our eyes connected, and then he pulled away.

Chapter Twenty-one

W
ithout Theo, my life stilled.

Days turned into weeks, with no word. If anyone had contact with him, they didn’t share. Relentlessly aware of his absence, I was lost—disconnected. I walked by the baby’s room he promised he’d show me, never opening the bags from our post-ultrasound shopping spree. I even avoided driving past The Super Baby Depot. Without Theo everything, other than the baby I carried, was a gaping void. He had to come back to me. And at first, I believed he would.

Every few days Cortez would spring up. He’d appear at all hours, never with any warning. Some days he brought food; some days he simply came to talk. The days he hung out, not giving or taking but simply being with me, helped the most. Those times, I knew he ached too. Theo had been a constant in his life. One day, Cortez admitted he knew where Theo had gone but refused to tell me.

“How can you not tell me?” I asked, throwing our takeout containers in the trash. “If I could talk to him—”

“No.” Cortez crossed his one arm over his chest, his hook hanging by his side.

“I can make him come back. I know you want that too.”

“No,” he repeated calmly. “You can’t
make
Theo do anything.”

“Okay.” I nodded, tightness in my chest making my breath shallow. “Don’t tell me next time.”

“What?” Cortez’s eyebrows shot up.

Finally, my safety net kicked in: I got pissed. People who walked away didn’t come back. “Don’t tell me about Theo.” I stood a little taller. “If you hear from him again, I don’t want to know.”

Theo was gone. I had to carry on.

So I went through the motions of work, kept Ellie preoccupied, and masqueraded for my friends that all was well, that I had moved on. But alone in the dark—or even worse, when I first lifted my eyes at dawn—in those moments, my heart would detonate.