Hope on the Inside

by Marie Bostwick

  To McKenzie, it still seemed kind of surreal. It was just so crazy. By the time she went over to her parents’ place to share an extra-large pizza that evening, she was making jokes about it.

  “Hey, Dad? From here on out,” she said, “I advise you to tread lightly around your wife. Seriously, I think she’s been taking Tae Kwon Do lessons in secret. One false move and boom! You could find yourself on the floor.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Another good thing to remember,” he said, “should you suddenly decide to embark on a life of crime: Never wear alligator shoes to a robbery.”

  “Or really anywhere,” McKenzie mumbled through a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni. “Those were some butt-ugly shoes.”

  “And always, always root for the Mariners,” Rick said. “Right, honey?”

  “Right.”

  The wooden tone of Hope’s response caught McKenzie’s attention. She was suddenly aware that she and Rick were the ones doing all the talking. Judging from the frown on her father’s face, she guessed he’d picked up on the same thing. Rick reached out and laid his hand on Hope’s shoulder.

  “Hey. You feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Hope replied, pushing her chair back from the table. “Just tired. I think I’ll turn in early.”

  “Good idea,” Rick said, squeezing her shoulder. “You had a crazy day.”

  Hope nodded. “I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.”

  McKenzie hadn’t really let herself think about what could have happened, partly because she didn’t want to. But it must be different for Hope. She was the one who’d sensed danger, reacted to the reality, and saved the day. For her, it must have been all too real. No wonder she was so quiet; she must be exhausted.

  “Actually,” McKenzie said, getting to her feet, “I should get going. I’m supposed to meet Zach for coffee in the morning.”

  Rick’s brows came together into a single, disapproving line. “What’s that about? He’s not trying to get you to take him back, is he?”

  McKenzie choked out a laugh. “Definitely not. He probably just wants to discuss some of the financial stuff. One thing we’re agreed on: The more we can work out between the two of us, the less ends up going to the lawyers.”

  McKenzie walked over to her mother, wrapped her arms around her, and squeezed her tight.

  “Hey, I was just kidding before. I thought what you did today was amazing. You’re my hero,” McKenzie said, realizing it was true.

  “No,” Hope replied. “Just your mother.”

  “Same thing, right?”

  Hope returned McKenzie’s smile.

  “Sometimes. Depends on the day.”

  * * *

  Zach’s eyes flew open and his jaw dropped. “A gun! Like an actual loaded gun? Are you okay?”

  “I’m sitting here talking to you, aren’t I?”

  “And the baby’s okay?” he asked, looking down toward her stomach. “You went and got checked out?”

  “Yes. I had an ultrasound at the hospital. Everything’s fine.” Though Zach nodded deeply, his eyes still looked a little glazed, making McKenzie wonder if he’d really heard her. “Zach? It’s okay. Really.”

  “Yeah. But you must have been scared.”

  “Not really. There wasn’t time. I almost didn’t know what was going on until it was over.”

  “Man. Thank God your mom was there. I don’t know what I’d do if anything had happened.”

  McKenzie felt her jaw tighten. How very like Zach, making it all about him.

  “Well, it didn’t. Now, what did you want to talk about?” she asked, and took a drink of her coffee.

  Zach rolled his eyes. “Kenz. Come on. Are you planning to stay pissed at me forever?”

  Almost gasping at the audacity of his question, McKenzie practically spit coffee onto the table.

  “Are you serious? First off, Zach, this is still pretty new. Our divorce isn’t even final, so I don’t think I’m exactly out of line here. Second, since you cheated on me, more than once—Yeah, I think I will be pissed at you forever. In fact, that seems like an excellent plan!”

  “Well, if it makes you feel better,” Zach said, shifting his shoulders in a maddeningly nonchalant manner, “then go right ahead. But seriously, Kenz. It can’t have come as that much of a surprise. I mean, you knew who I was from the first, didn’t you?”

  Ignoring his question, McKenzie took another drink of coffee.

  “How’s Mercedes?”

  “Ah.” Zach sniffed. “That didn’t quite work out the way I hoped it would. Probably for the best. She was very jealous, stifling.”

  “Uh-huh. So you haven’t changed.”

  Zach shook his head. “If anybody could have changed me, it would have been you. Honestly, I was sort of hoping you would. But I am who I am, Kenz. We both know that.”

  McKenzie pressed her lips together and glanced down at the table, saying nothing because there was nothing to say. Zach was right. He was who he was. She’d known that going in. Had he hoped she would be able to change him? Maybe. And why not? She’d hoped the same thing.

  “So, listen,” Zach said. “I get that you’re still mad. Maybe you always will be. And I know I deserve it, but, with the baby coming, I was hoping that we could call a truce.”

  “A truce.” Zach bobbed his head. “What would that look like?”

  “Well, for one thing, besides child support, I want to pay for half the childcare expenses. And I want to start a college fund for her too, direct deposit so it would come right out of my paycheck.”

  “Zach. If this is about custody—”

  He held up his hands and shook his head, vigorously. “I swear to you it’s not. Yes, I want to be involved in her life, but I’m not cut out to be a full-time father. Or even a part-time one. I kind of envision myself as more of the fun uncle type, the one who takes her to Mariners games, or the water park, buys extravagant birthday presents. That’s the part I’d be good at.”

  McKenzie cast her eyes down, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

  “There’s something else. I’d like to be there when she’s born,” he said, nodding toward McKenzie’s ballooning waistline. “In fact, I’d like to come to the birthing classes with you, be your delivery coach.”

  McKenzie blinked. She hadn’t seen this coming.

  “I don’t know, Zach. That feels like it would be pretty awkward.”

  “Only if we make it awkward,” he said, his voice urgent, almost pleading. “Kenz, like it or not, you and I are going to be parents, so we’re kind of stuck with each other. You can spend the rest of your life hating me if you want to. I could do the same. But for the baby’s sake, for ours, too, what if we tried to be friends?”

  “Friends?” McKenzie scoffed. “Why? We never were before.”

  “I know. But maybe we should have been. Because I liked you, Kenz, right from the first. You were funny, and smart, and cute, and a total pain in the butt.” He laughed. “But then, you know, me being me, I had to try and get you into the sack and then it became this whole other thing.” Zach turned out his hands in a helpless gesture.

  “I still like you, Kenz. If you were willing to give it a go, maybe we could be friends. We couldn’t be any worse friends than we were lovers. So, what do you say? Can we give it a try?”

  * * *

  Zach stood outside the coffee shop watching as McKenzie climbed into her car. When she pulled away from the curb, he raised his hand. McKenzie didn’t wave back, but she nodded before driving away.

  In the end, she’d said he could participate in the birth if he wanted to, but only if he showed up for all of the birthing classes that she’d signed up for. It was a test, one she was quite certain he’d fail. Reliability had never been Zach’s forte.

  As for his other request, that they become in divorce what they’d never been during their marriage, friends, she hadn’t given him an answer one way or another. Time would tell, she supposed. On the one hand, it was hard to imagine a
time when she wouldn’t look at him and feel the way she felt now—hurt, humiliated, and betrayed. On the other hand, she was open to the possibility, as much for her own sake as for the baby’s.

  Being this hurt and this angry was exhausting. She’d really like to spend her energy doing something else, if that was possible. She’d have to think about it.

  The thing that was most on McKenzie’s mind was Zach’s description of the kind of relationship he envisioned for himself and their daughter, casting himself more in the role of playmate than father.

  When he’d talked about that, McKenzie had felt her cheeks flush red. His words, or at least the attitude behind them, sounded embarrassingly familiar. Thinking about Zach and what he said, then thinking about her mother and father, made her realize that Zach had no clue.

  Maybe she didn’t either, not until today.

  Being a parent, a good parent, wasn’t a part-time proposition, something you picked up or put down according to what was convenient for you. You couldn’t pick and choose the parts you liked. It wasn’t about being popular or making your kid like you.

  It was about doing your best, however imperfect your effort. It was about sacrifice and putting your child first, always, no matter the consequences. It was, as her parents had demonstrated so clearly, about love—all-in, 100 percent, never-take-a-day-off love.

  Zach was right; he was who he was. And he would probably never change. He didn’t want to.

  But McKenzie did. Very much.

  Chapter 33

  In spite of her assurances to Rick, Hope didn’t feel better the next morning.

  Though she’d fallen asleep quickly, her slumber was restless. She dreamed she was back in the café. Everything happened just like before up to the point where Hope shouted to McKenzie, pulled her down to the floor, and shielded her child with her own body.

  But in the dream, instead of getting beaned over the head with a vase and running out the door, the gunman turned around and pointed the gun right at them. Hope woke up sweating and gasping.

  Rick was sound asleep next to her, snoring softly, so she lay in bed and took slow, deep breaths until her heart resumed a more normal rhythm. She forced herself to go back to sleep only to wake up twice more in the same condition. In the morning, she was so exhausted and anxious that she called in sick.

  The pattern of nightmares and interrupted sleep continued. She called in sick for five days in a row. Days weren’t much better than her nights. Rick was being kind and patient, but she found herself snapping at him over the littlest things. Kate came over to visit and brought over a pan of lasagna, which was awfully sweet and much appreciated. Hope just couldn’t summon the energy to cook or do much of anything.

  She felt anxious too, nervous and unsettled, but couldn’t figure out what was making her feel that way. The incident in the café was on her mind, of course. It was a frightening experience. But she didn’t think that was the root cause of all this, not that she was able to think very clearly about anything. She tried to stitch the binding on the quilt she was making for the new baby, thinking that doing handwork would help settle and soothe her anxiety. Then her hands started to tremble and she had to put it aside. She didn’t tell Rick about it; he was worried enough about her already.

  On Friday afternoon, when she was trying, unsuccessfully, to take a nap, Hope heard the soft scuffing of feet on carpeting. She opened her eyes and saw Rick standing just outside the bedroom door.

  “Sorry,” he said when she opened her eyes. “I was just checking on you. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep.”

  Hope yawned and scooted herself into a sitting position, pillows wedged behind her back. Rick came into the room and perched himself on the edge of the bed, crooking his left leg onto the mattress but leaving the right leg straight, his foot anchored on the floor. Seeing this, Hope smiled.

  “Do you remember how, when you would come over to the house to see me and we’d go into my bedroom to talk, Mom would always yell, ‘One foot on the floor at all times, you two!’ ”

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten about that.” Rick grinned. “Your mom didn’t trust me as far as she could throw me.”

  “And she was right not to.” Hope smiled. “You were one big bundle of testosterone.”

  “When it comes to you, I still am.” He took her hand and lifted it briefly to his lips. “Nancy called a few minutes ago. She said to tell you hello and that everybody misses you, your students especially. She wanted to know if you’re coming back to work on Monday.”

  Hope pulled her hand from Rick’s grasp, pushed her hair back from her face, then put her hand in her lap.

  “Oh. Well, it was nice of her to call.”

  “So are you?” Rick asked. “Going back on Monday?”

  Feeling her heart flutter, Hope took a quick breath and looked away. She’d been asking herself the same question for a couple of days now. She gave Rick the same answer she’d given herself.

  “I don’t know. I want to. But I don’t know if I can. I feel so strange, anxious and exhausted. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Maybe you should talk to somebody,” Rick said gently. “I mean, after what you went through, it makes sense that you’d be nervous about going back to the prison. Until now, I’m not sure it really sank in that your students were real criminals, that some of them might have been involved in things every bit as terrible as what you experienced in the café.”

  “No,” Hope said. “That’s not it. I always understood what I was getting into and who I was dealing with. I didn’t kid myself about the reasons my students ended up where they were. But now . . .” Hope shook her head. “I’m just not sure I’m up to it. If I’m going to quit in a few months to help McKenzie with the baby anyway, would it be better to do it now?”

  Rick frowned and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Hope frowned, surprised by his response. “Why not? You were never happy about me taking this job. We barely spoke to each other for weeks after I went ahead and did it anyway, remember? So what’s changed?”

  “A lot of things,” he said. “First off, I’m not quite as much of a self-centered jerk as I was back then.” Hope tried to interrupt him, to say he was being too hard on himself, but Rick waved off her justification. “I was, Hope. I acted like a total jerk. McKenzie told me so when we went out to lunch one day and she was right. I’m not saying that I should have been excited about you working with felons; I’m just saying I should have handled things better. I’m trying to make up for it now.

  “Besides, I know you. If you quit now, back out on the commitment you made to those women, you will hate yourself for it later.”

  “But if I’m going to end up quitting anyway—”

  “To take care of the baby? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

  “Wait,” he said, holding a hand out flat. “Let me clarify. I’m not sure you think it’s a good idea. We haven’t talked about it much since I picked you and Kenz up from the hospital, but I’ve got the feeling you’re not convinced. If you really want to quit working at the prison and take care of the baby instead, fine with me. And if you don’t, that’s fine too.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what I want right now. I just can’t seem to focus.”

  “Hope. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to somebody?”

  She knew what he was saying and why; the symptoms she was displaying, sleeplessness, anxiety, irritability, could all be signs of post-traumatic stress. And of course it all made sense. Though the outcome had been all they could have hoped for under the circumstances, no one was hurt and the perpetrator was captured, the incident had been traumatic.

  In the moment, she hadn’t really thought about what she was doing. She merely acted on her instincts and did what came naturally, protecting her progeny. It wasn’t until later, when she was sitting in a curtained-off cubicle of the emergency room, watching a technician spread lubri
cant over the mound of McKenzie’s stomach prior to performing the ultrasound, that she started to think about what could have happened. A moment later, she experienced a trembling in her hands.

  That was the first time. It had happened a few times since then. Sometimes it came on while she was thinking about the café, but sometimes it just seemed to come out of nowhere, once while she was thinking about what to get Hazel for her birthday.

  Just because she wasn’t consciously thinking about the robbery didn’t mean that it wasn’t bubbling around somewhere in her subconscious; the fact that she kept dreaming about it proved the point. And she was anxious—anxious about going back to work, or not going back, anxious about taking care of the new baby, or not, anxious about Hazel’s birthday present, and the state of national affairs, and where Rory might be sent for his residency, and whether she should make a hair appointment for the end of that month or the beginning of the next.

  She was anxious about everything, the monumental as well as the piddling, with no sense of proportion about any of it and, seemingly, no ability to stop herself from being anxious. The pep talks she tried to give herself did no good. Her thoughts were one big jumbled mess of worries. Was the trauma of what had happened in the café at the center of it? She didn’t think so, but on the other hand, what else could it be?

  “I need a few days to think things through, the weekend. I’ll make up my mind to go back to work or not, by Monday. And if I can’t . . .” She lifted her eyes, met Rick’s worried gaze. “If I still can’t, then I’ll talk to someone. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said quietly, and kissed her hand again. “Whatever you decide is fine with me. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Hope tipped her head to one side, then lifted her hand and rested it on the side of his face, felt the prickle of his beard on her palm.

  “My hero.”

  Chapter 34

  Mandy’s hands were shaking as she inserted the prepaid phone card into the telephone kiosk, then punched in the number with trembling fingers. While waiting for the call to be accepted, she took slow and deliberately deep breaths, trying to hold it together. But the minute the call connected she lost her resolve as well as her composure and started to cry.