Justin
* * *
I know I shouldn’t want her, but I can’t seem to change anything. I talked myself out of driving over here this morning. I gave myself a lecture in the car. Legit, I was having a conversation with myself.
But I couldn’t not come. I couldn’t do that to Dylan, and I couldn’t do that to her. I sat on the couch all night in the dark looking out my window at the moon in the sky, thinking about what she was doing and wondering if he stayed the night. Wondering if she let him hold her hand or kiss her lips.
I repeatedly told myself that I have to just be her friend, that I was there helping her, but when I saw Dylan, and his eyes were puffy and red and he was clearly crying and upset, all thoughts and reasoning went out the window. Trying to keep my cool, I tried not to rush toward them and tried to stop my heart from beating so hard I thought it would come out of my chest. I wanted to hold him and protect him and make him feel safe.
He rushed into my arms, and I felt his tears on my neck as he silently and quietly told me that his father took his stuff. “Shh,” I said, soothing him and then hugging him with both arms. “It’s okay,” I tried to tell him.
I have always been the chill one in the family, always been the voice of reason. I mean, Matthew is more than enough of a hothead for any family, but at that moment, if you were to put me in a ring with Dylan’s dad, I wouldn’t stop until he was bloody. I avoided looking at her, avoided the fact that I wanted to take them both in my arms and take them away from here and never have them come back, but she told me to go.
“It’s going to be okay, buddy. Why don’t we just put your stuff in the trunk? I promise it’s going to be okay. It’s not your fault,” I whispered into his ear, and I knew that I was no one to him. So I did what I thought was the right thing. I took care of Dylan and hopefully made him see that what his father did were his actions and had no reflection on him. “You did nothing wrong.” That was for his father to carry. “Now bring your bag to the SUV for me, yeah?” I was on my knees and trying to not lose it in front of him when I sent him to the vehicle and counted to ten.
I used to watch my father walk away and go into another room when he was upset with something that Matthew and Allison’s biological father did. He would walk into an empty room and count to ten. We would literally hear him count out loud. I hear her voice, and I finally look up at her, and my breath hitches. She is so beautiful it hurts to look at her. Especially knowing that I can’t do anything to her.
“Justin.” When she whispers my name, the hurt and crushing I felt yesterday is nothing like it is today. Today, it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest, and I can’t get up. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.” I finally look into her eyes. “We should get going.”
“What?” she asks, almost surprised that I’m actually going to continue helping her. “After everything that just went down, you are still going to go out of your way to help us?”
I stand now and shrug. “I said I would help you, and I keep my word.” I turn to see Dylan getting into the back seat. Then I take a deep breath and say the words I wanted to tell her yesterday right before she sent me away. “It’s not my place to say anything, but he deserves better.” I take off my hat, scratching my head. “You both do.”
I turn to walk away, not expecting her to say or do anything, but I feel her grab my wrist with her small delicate hand that has to juggle all the balls in the air without letting one fall. “Please,” she says in a desperate plea, and I wonder how many times she’s said that, only to come up with no answer. I don’t shrug off her hand, but I turn, and she slowly slips her hand away from my wrist. My fingers graze hers, and I struggle not to grab it and keep it in mine, but I let it go. “I want you to know that before today, I have never, ever let him see what his father has done,” she says. I see her eyes gloss over with tears, and I want to cup her cheek in my hand. “And I don’t know that I wouldn’t have lied for Andrew this morning if I’d found the bag first.”
“Where is he?” I ask, not sure if it’s the right thing for me to know right now.
“He’s long gone,” she says. “I heard the door open and close last night, and I just thought he was leaving. I never, ever …” she says, rubbing her hands over her face. “I never expected him to take his equipment. It’s hockey equipment. The TV was a given. The iPad was like waving candy in front of a kid.” My stomach burns as she says this, and my hands clench at my sides. “But this …” She shakes her head. “I never expected this.”
“I have an extra bag of equipment at the rink,” I say.
“I can’t have you do that.” She shakes her head. “This is not your problem.”
“No, you’re right, it isn’t,” I say, and I step closer to her, “but I can help, and I’m going to.”
She shakes her head and bites her lower lip, looking off into the distance. “I never wanted him to see what his father was really like. I wanted to shield and protect him, and I knew deep down that eventually there would come a day when I’d have to answer his questions, but I never ever wanted him to find out like this.”
“Are you two still together?” I ask, and I hold my breath waiting.
“God, no,” she says without missing a beat. “We haven’t been together since I walked in on him fucking our landlady when Dylan was three years old. And even before then.”
I take a deep inhale and let it out and then put my hands on my hips. “We should really get going, or you’ll be late to work,” I say, and she looks down and then up.
“I got fired,” she says, and I stand here with my mouth open. “Two days ago. But I got another job at the church two streets over.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “You went through all that alone.”
“Not the first time,” she says, and then mumbles, “and not going to be the last time.”
“Justin!” Dylan yells from the back seat, and I look over my shoulder. “I’m starving.”
Caroline laughs. “Not twenty minutes ago, he told me he wasn’t hungry.”
“Why don’t we get breakfast, and then I can drop you off at work before we go to the rink?”
“I would like that,” she says and then looks down. “I’d also really like to have a second to talk to you,” she rambles. “I mean, I know we are talking now, but you need to know that I’m a good person. I’m a good mom. At the end of the day, I don’t want him to suffer for my choices.”
“I would never think you aren’t a good person, let alone a good mom,” I reassure her. “Now before he starts honking the horn, let’s get some breakfast.” I hold out my hand for her to walk in front of me, and she looks down and smiles. Her hair falls in her face, and she tucks it behind her ear. We walk side by side, and I open the door for her. She smiles shyly, and I can swear my heart skipped a beat.
Breakfast is different than it was a couple of days ago. I still see her eyes roam over the menu and take it upon myself to order for us all, and at the end of the meal, I’m happy to see that she actually ate.
“I can walk to work,” she says when we walk to the truck. “It’s two streets over, and you’ll probably get stuck in traffic,” she says and then grabs Dylan and hugs him. “Have a great day.”
He hugs her and looks up at her, and I know that in a couple of years, he will tower over her. “I will.”
“We should go out.” My mouth opens before my brain can register what it’s saying. “To celebrate the new job.”
“I couldn’t,” she says at the same time Dylan says, “Yes! Can we go somewhere nice?”
“We can go anywhere you want,” I say with a smile. “What is your favorite?”
“Pizza and spaghetti,” he answers without thinking about it.
“I know a great place. I’ll pick you up after the rink. I’ll call you,” I say, and I see her face fall.
“Um,” she starts and then looks down and then up again. “I’ll give you the number to my work.” I look at her. “I c
an’t have my phone at work, so use this one in case something happens.”
I hand her my phone. “Put it in there for me.” I turn and open the door. “Dylan, let’s go.”
“Bye, Mom,” he says, getting into the back seat and buckling himself.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, hoping that she doesn’t realize she is still holding my phone, but I don’t have luck this morning. While she is typing, something must happen because she shoves the phone back at me.
“Here is your phone. I put the name under Caroline work,” she says, and then she waves at Dylan and walks away. I watch her when my phone buzzes in my hand. I look down and see an unknown number, and the text.
Unknown: Last night was everything.
I look down at the phone and then up again and see that she has disappeared around the block. Right then, another text comes in.
Unknown: Sorry wrong number.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath, but before I can do anything about it, I hear Dylan yelling my name. I put the phone in my pocket and walk around to the driver’s side and get to the rink in time to change and get on the ice.
The morning flies by with the classes on the ice. Dylan just keeps getting better and better. If he had the height, he could smash even the kids three years older than him.
At lunchtime, I walk outside and call her cell phone by accident, and I get the same generic message about the caller not being available. So I call her work number, and she answers right away.
“St. Vincent, Caroline speaking,” she says, and I smile.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say. “Justin.”
It’s almost like I can see the way she changes. Her voice is curt. “Hi. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, and then I sit in the same spot I did yesterday when I called her. “I was just calling to see how your first day was going.”
“Good,” she says, answering with one word.
“It was a wrong number,” I say, and she doesn’t say anything else. “This morning, the text I got. It was a wrong number.”
“Justin, there is no need to explain anything to me.” Her voice is flat. “You’re free to do what you want with who you want.”
“Caroline,” I say her name, and I really don’t want to have this conversation on the phone.
“I really have to go,” she says, and just like that, she hangs up, leaving me stuck looking down at the phone.
This woman is going to push me to be like Matthew, I think. Suddenly, everything that he’s ever done makes so much sense.
Chapter Fourteen
Caroline
He isn’t yours, I tell myself the whole way to work. He isn’t yours, and you aren’t his. This is what you want for him. But the whole time, all I see are the words in my head.
Last night was everything.
No wonder he looked so tired this morning. He probably spent the whole night with someone. I force my mind to shut off when Father Rolly explains my duties. Luckily for me, Murielle left everything in order, so just picking up where she left off is a breeze.
By the time noon rolls around, I’m sitting at the desk with nothing else to do. Father Rolly went out to make a house call and will be back, so I turn the computer on and search for the pawn shops in the area.
I call ten of the ones that I know Andrew has been to, but none of them have anything like what I’m describing. I hang up the phone, and it rings right away, and when I answer it, I’m smiling until I hear his voice.
I want to be mad that he was with someone, but I can’t be. I give him one-word answers, and he knows within two minutes into the conversation—hell, within one minute into the conversation—that I’m not myself.
“It was a wrong number,” he says, and the pen in my hand that I was tapping on the notepad stops. “This morning, the text I got. It was a wrong number.”
“Justin, there is no need to explain anything to me.” I pretend that I’m fine, and that everything is fine. “You’re free to do what you want with who you want.” I close my eyes, trying not to picture him with someone else.
“Caroline,” he says, and my heart pulls to him. To tell him that I was jealous and angry. That I don’t know what is going on, but I want to tell him everything, except I don’t.
“I really have to go.” I put the phone down and take a deep inhale and exhale.
“We are sometimes our own worst enemies.” I look up at the woman who runs the Narcotics Anonymous meeting. “Sorry for eavesdropping. I’m Cheryl,” she says. Her brown eyes look almost black, and her curly long brown hair is everywhere. “You must be Caroline. Father Rolly was telling me all about you last night.” Her smile fills her face, and I watch as she sits down in the same chair I sat in just yesterday.
“I thought you were only coming in at one?” I ask. She smiles and crosses her leg, and I have to say she looks so graceful.
“I got finished early and figured I would come around and introduce myself.” She puts her hands in her lap. “I should have thought this through and got coffee.”
I laugh now. “No need.” I put my pen down. “What you said before …?”
“About us being our worst enemies?” she says, and I nod. “It’s things that we do when we’ve been around addicts.”
“How do you move past it?” I look at her.
“My father was an addict, my mother an addict, and then my sister and brother both followed in their footsteps.” She starts to share her story. “I was the one pretending everything was okay. The one covering for them.” She shakes her head. “From the school, from their co-workers, from their bosses. Until I left them to fend for themselves.”
“How did you do it?” I ask, and she looks at me, waiting for me to expand on the question. “When did you finally say fuck this and let them sink?”
“When I came home, and the lights were cut off,” she says. “I had hidden the money for the electric bill in the bathroom in a plastic soap container that I put in a junk drawer that no one ever went in. I was wrong. When you are chasing your next fix, you search everywhere.”
“My son’s father stole his hockey equipment last night,” I say. “I knew that he was low. I mean, he’s stolen just about everything that I have of value.”
“But you allow him to come into the home,” she points out.
“I don’t want my son to miss any time that he can have with him,” I say.
“You mean you don’t want to be the bitch who keeps a child from his parent?” She uses the same words that Andrew threw at me last year after he sold our third television set. “Oh, I’ve been called more than that by my own father.”
“How do you do it?” I ask, waiting for the answer.
“I put myself ahead of them. Me.” She smiles at me. “I was a teen mom at fifteen because I was looking for any type of love I could get, and just like that, I fell for an addict who destroyed himself at the end and took a piece of me when he left our child in the stroller while he went to get high in December.” My hand goes to my mouth. “I’ve made peace with it. God has a plan for us, and I didn’t know it then. I will never fully understand it, but …” She wipes a tear away from her cheek.
“How?” I ask. “How do you do it?”
“I stopped being my own worst enemy and saw that no matter what I did or how I did it, I can’t be blamed for other people’s actions.” The sound of the door slamming makes us both look toward the door, and we see a man coming in and sitting in one of the chairs. “I guess that’s my cue.” She gets up. “This was nice.”
“It was,” I say as she turns to walk out of the room.
“You know, the meetings are not just for the addicts but also for the ones living through this. If you ever feel like sitting with us.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I have a couple of things to finish before Father Rolly comes back.”
“Well, the meeting is always open,” she says with a smile, and then she turns to walk into the room, and I’m left with my head spinning. I g
et up and decide to update the filing system, and then when that is over, I see about maybe making all items digital. When Father Rolly walks in two hours later, I look up from the computer.
“Hey there, Father.” I smile at him. “How was this morning?”
“As expected. Mrs. Rodriguez is not going to recover from losing her husband, but we can sit and talk for as long as she wants.”
“It must be hard,” I say, and he looks at the files in front of me. “I’m going to try a system,” I say, and he just smiles.
“You young kids and your systems,” he jokes.
“Just think of all the extra space we’ll have if I get all these papers into this computer,” I joke, and he smiles at me.
“You have a great night,” he says and turns to walk up the stairs and, then I get bombarded with phone calls about baptisms and communions. When I finally hang up, the phone rings again, and I pick it right up.
“Hey, Mom,” Dylan says, and I’m already halfway out of my chair.
“Dylan, are you okay?” I ask, frantic, and if this was a cordless phone, I would be outside already.
“He’s fine.” I hear Justin’s voice, and I sit back down in my chair. “We are just letting you know that we are on our way, and we’ll pick you up at work.”
“But it’s early?” I say, and then look at the clock on the wall and the computer to make sure they are both right.
“Yeah, the rink had a power outage, so we left early, and we got some ice cream. We’re going to come and get you.”
“But—” I start, and then Dylan cuts me off.
“Mom, I did a three-pointer again.” I close my eyes.
“That’s great,” I say, and then the other line rings. “Okay, I have someone on the other line. I’ll call you right back.”
“No need,” Justin says. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Come out when you finish,” he says and then disconnects.
I press the button to switch to the other line. “Hey, this is Travis,” he says. “You called earlier about hockey equipment for a kid.”
This Is Forever Page 9
