The Long and Winding Road

by T. J. Klune

  “Your braids are a little off,” Megan says. “Tell you what. If it’s okay with everyone, I can redo them for you. And maybe you can help me do mine, if that’s all right with you. I’m moving a little slowly these days.”

  Izzie cocks her head at Megan. “How far along are you?”

  “Twenty-two weeks.”

  “Oh, Bear, I am going to murder you,” Anna growls from behind us.

  “What?” Creed asks. “Why? What’d he do now? And who’s the pregnant chick? Ow, why did you just kick me? I am holding your son. You need to get me my lawyer so I can sue you for spousal abuse.”

  “I’m your lawyer,” she reminds him. “And you can’t sue me for abuse.”

  “Huh,” he says with a frown. “That seems like a conflict of interest.”

  “Is that all right with you?” Megan asks me.

  “If that’s what Izzie wants,” I say, looking at my sister. “And hey, your clothes should be about finished in the dryer if you want to change. But no rush.”

  “Great,” Megan says, clapping her hands. “We’ll have a little girl-time. Maybe take a break from the crowd for a minute.”

  And Izzie doesn’t hesitate as she follows Megan out of the room. She does look back over her shoulder at Otter and me, but then she’s gone down the hall.

  “Wine!” I demand.

  Two glasses are thrust into my hands.

  I suck them both down in the space of two minutes.

  I set the glasses down on the counter.

  Otter puts his arm around my shoulders.

  Everyone is staring at us.

  Except for JJ. He’s found grapes from somewhere and is tossing them into the air, trying to catch them in his mouth, cackling while doing so.

  Remembering my manners, I say, “Thank you all for coming to Tyson’s welcome-home surprise party.”

  “Really,” Anna says dryly. “That’s what you’re choosing to go with right now.”

  My skin feels like it’s vibrating. Because yes, that is what I’m choosing to go with right now, because if I try and do anything else, if I try and explain just what the hell is going on, I’m pretty sure I will freak the fuck out.

  I smile. They all flinch just a little. “I don’t even know what you mean. We’re all here just being… here. Everything is fine. Everyone is calm. We’re all fine. Everything is just… fine.”

  “Translate for your husband,” Creed tells Otter. “Because he sounds like a pod person, and I haven’t been convinced that’s not the case.”

  “He’s fine,” Otter says in that same monotone. “Everything is fine.”

  “Pod people,” Creed whispers.

  “You’re all acting like someone died,” JJ announces.

  “That’s because someone did,” Anna tells him.

  “Oh,” JJ says. “That sucks. Dad, how many grapes do you think I could fit into my mouth at one time?”

  “Sixteen,” Creed says distractedly. “Dude, Bear. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Bear,” Alice says gently. “I know you didn’t have the best—or any—relationship, but you’re allowed to be upset.”

  “I know that,” I say. “But I don’t have time for it right now. The Kid is going to be—oh shit, the Kid. What the fuck am I going to say to the Kid?”

  Otter puts his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs brushing along my neck. “Bear, listen to me, you gotta calm down, okay? We’re fine. I promise you, we’re fine—”

  “Fine? Fine? Otter, what the hell about any of this is fine? We woke up this morning thinking how things were going to be, and now everything is different. Do you get that? Nothing is the same! Nothing. Every time I’ve answered the door today, things have gotten worse. Do you know what that does to people? No one should have to answer the door five times in one day and have things get worse. My biggest issue of the day was whether or not our unborn child was going to have a tail and be a serial killer, which, why haven’t you disproved that? Why have you not offered me solid evidence that’s not going to happen? And now we’re having twins? Otter, what if both of them have tails? What are we going to do? We can’t sell them to a traveling circus, because that’s wrong. And I don’t even know if there are traveling circuses anymore! But we only have three more months to try and find one if that’s what we want to do, because there are at least six hundred people in my kitchen right now, and every one of them could become victims to our unborn serial killer twins with tails. And the laws of horror movies say that the pretty one goes first, and you know that would be me! I mean, you’re hot and everything, and so are Creed and Anna, but I’m the pretty one, Otter. Our children will come for me first, and they’ll stand in the hallway wearing old-timey clothes and bow ties and their tails will be twitching and then I’ll be murdered. And what about Izzie? What’s she going to do then? You would be a single parent to three kids, because you know we’re going to do everything we can to keep her. I don’t fucking care what we have to do, and no, I’m not fucking sad that my mother is dead, because fuck her. Fuck Julie McKenna for everything. Because we were fine. We were fine. And now I have to tell my little brother that the woman who didn’t give two shits about him is dead, and that he is going to be an uncle to traveling-circus children, and we only have one crib! One crib. We’re having twins. We have to get two of everything now. Why do I have to have such potent sperm? Out of all the things that could have happened to me, why do I have to be pretty and have powerful spunk?”

  “Did everyone follow that?” Otter asks, never once looking away from me.

  “I… think so?” Alice says slowly. “Megan… she’s… she’s your surrogate.” She sounds like she’s just awed by the thought.

  “Yes,” Otter says. “She is. And she’s now twenty-two weeks pregnant. With twins. Something we just found out about today. The twins part. Not the pregnancy part. It was supposed to be a surprise, but. Well. Bear’s had a very trying day, so I don’t blame him.”

  “Right,” Creed says. “But what about the part with circuses and serial killers—ow, babe, you really should stop kicking my shins. You know I bruise easy.”

  “Then stop talking about the circus,” Anna says.

  “Bear started it—ha, you missed me!”

  A phone chimes.

  Otter sighs and pulls it from his pocket, still keeping one hand on me, as if the touch alone was enough to keep me from falling apart. And I really think it is. He’s always done that for me. He’s always put up with my shit, no matter how fucking stupid I sounded.

  “I love them,” I tell him, needing him to know. “We don’t even know them yet, but I love them. I want to keep them. With you. I don’t want to sell them at all. Even if they try and murder me.”

  “Because you’re the pretty one,” Otter says, pulling me forward and kissing my forehead. “We’ll keep them. I think we’re probably past the return-by date, anyway.”

  “Did Otter just make a dad joke?” Creed mutters. “Because I swear to god that was a dad joke. And that totally makes sense now.”

  “I’m so proud,” Jerry says to no one in particular. “I have so many of those to share.”

  “You never shared them with me,” Creed says.

  Otter glances down at his phone as I lay my head on his shoulder. He tenses slightly before sighing. “Shit,” he mutters.

  God, what now?

  He holds the phone up in front of my face.

  There’s a text message on the display from Dom.

  We’re about ten minutes out.

  “Shit,” I breathe.

  7. Where Bear Tells Tyson Everything

  I’M WAITING on the porch when a truck pulls up in front of the Green Monstrosity towing a large camper trailer behind it. The windows are tinted, but I know who’s inside, and I’m simultaneously wanting to run toward them and away at the same time.

  The truck switches off, and there’s a moment when nothing happens.

>   Then the passenger door opens and he’s running toward me, a grin on his face.

  My heart stutters a little in my chest, and I take a step forward, and then another, and then another. He’s up the steps and colliding with me only a moment later, his hands wrapped around me, and he’s laughing, okay? He’s laughing, and it’s a sound I haven’t heard in a very long time, happy and carefree. When he left here, when he put Seafare at his back, he still wasn’t the person I remembered. He was getting there, and I knew he’d do it, even then, but he still wasn’t… there.

  But here he is, and he’s laughing, that high-pitched noise he makes when he’s really excited or finds something really funny. I grip him tightly, and his hands find the back of my hair and he’s babbling in my ear like he’d done when he was just a little guy, talking about the things he’s seen, like the world’s largest ball of twine and something called Carhenge, and how they were in the middle of nowhere New Mexico and they saw a meteor shower, the brightest one he’d ever seen, and it’s been amazing.

  I don’t let him go for the longest time.

  He seems to be okay with that.

  But it can’t stay like this, no matter how much I want it to, and I know it’s going to hurt. I know it will, because even though I said I was fine, I don’t know that I am. And I curse her in my head for fucking with us one last time. For doing something to us yet again, even if she’s gone.

  There’s another hand on my shoulder, and I know who it is, because I would always know.

  He understands me almost as much as my brother does.

  I let Tyson Thompson go, and he’s taking a step back, dark eyes bright. His skin is flushed, and he’s grinning at me. “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey, yourself,” I say back.

  And then I’m shoved out of the way so he can hug Otter too.

  Dominic Miller stands at the bottom of the stairs, a soft smile on his face. A little version of him stands beside him, holding on to his big hand.

  “Bear,” Dom says in that gravelly voice of his.

  I walk down the steps and hug him too. He seems surprised but leans down a little to hug me back. Ben ignores us both.

  “He’s going to need you, I think,” I mutter, no matter how much it pains me to say so. “Shit hit the fan.”

  Dom tenses. “How?” He lifts his chin from my shoulder, and I know he’s looking up at Ty, who is talking excitedly with Otter.

  “She’s dead.”

  He doesn’t even ask who. “How?”

  “Heart attack.”

  “Isabelle?”

  “Inside.”

  He grunts and pulls away. “I’ll call Stacey. Have her pick up Ben.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He arches an eyebrow at me. “For?”

  “Bringing this on you. Again.”

  He shakes his head. “I’d do almost anything for him. You know that.”

  And yeah, I do. It’s taken me a long time to accept that, a long time to trust Dom and his place in Ty’s life. And maybe that’s been unfair on my part, but I couldn’t help it. For the longest time, Ty was the center of everything, and it hurt to see that someone else could care for him better than I could. Things changed, and they’re changing again.

  “You’re a good guy,” I tell him.

  He squints at me. “How many glasses of wine have you had?”

  “Okay, Officer,” I growl. “Only two.”

  “Uh-huh. Everyone inside?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nods before bending down to pick up Ben and settle him in the crook of his elbow. Ben yawns and lays his head down on his dad’s shoulder, watching me without speaking.

  “Hey, Ben,” I say, smiling quietly.

  Ben doesn’t say anything, but then I don’t expect him to. I haven’t seen him in a couple of months, and it always takes him time to get used to everyone again.

  Dom’s up the stairs, pausing next to Ty. He leans down and whispers something in his ear. Ty listens, but his expression doesn’t change. He’s still smiling, and he nods when Dom straightens back up. He kisses Dom’s jaw, just once, and Dom rubs his hand over the back of his head.

  And then Dom’s inside, the door closing behind him.

  “We just going to stand on the porch?” Ty asks. “Or are we going to go inside and have me act surprised for the party I’m not supposed to know we’re having.”

  I smile weakly. “How’d you know?”

  “The cars in the driveway,” he says as if I’m stupid. “And it’s almost my birthday, and I’m coming home for the first time in almost six months.” His eyes widen a little. “Is there a jumping castle in the backyard? Because if there is, you two cannot do anything gross in it. I didn’t just drive across the country to watch you two mack all over each other.”

  “Mack,” I say, my distaste evident. “Kids these days. Mack.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Well, what are we waiting for? Look, here’s the surprised face I’ll make.” His jaw drops, and he looks terribly surprised. “For me? You really, really should have.”

  And he’s happy. God, he’s so fucking happy.

  I hate her now more than I ever have.

  “We gotta talk, Ty,” Otter says. “Some stuff came up. But after that, yeah. We can go inside and act surprised.”

  Ty’s smile fades just a little. “What happened now? Is everyone okay?” He looks over his shoulder toward the house, as if he can see through the door. His hands are curling into fists at his sides. He’s not breathing heavy, but it could get there. So, so easily.

  But maybe it won’t. I have to remind myself that he’s not as fragile as he once was. Neither of us are. We are stronger than most people ever gave us credit for. Sure, we shattered sometimes, but we always found ways to put ourselves back together. I have to trust him to be okay, because he’s shown he can stand on his own. There’d been late-night phone calls—though they’d been rare—while he’d been gone. When he needed to hear my voice. Or Otter’s voice. Or to just talk something through. But his panic attacks, while not cured because they probably wouldn’t ever be, are sparse things now. He takes care of himself. He knows how to breathe.

  “It’s okay,” I say, because in the end, I hope it will be. These are nothing but the bumps in the road. “Everyone here in Seafare is just fine. No one is hurt or sick or anything like that.”

  He nods tightly. “But then why do you—” He shakes his head, laughing a little bitterly. “It’s still something, though. Because it always is.”

  “Some of these things can be good,” Otter tells him. “Though it might take some time to figure out how to see them that way.”

  He looks at Otter for a long moment before he turns back to me. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s done something again. Is Izzie—oh god, please tell me Izzie’s okay. She’s just a little girl, Bear. Please tell me she’s—”

  “She’s fine,” I say, overriding him. “Izzie is fine.”

  He narrows his eyes. “How do you know?”

  “Because she’s here.”

  He makes a hurt sound, and there’s actual fear on his face. “Is—Mom… is she here—”

  “No,” I say from the bottom of the stairs. “She’s not here. And she won’t be. She won’t ever be. She can’t touch you or me or Izzie ever again.”

  He nods. His face crumples just a little. He takes a stuttering breath. And then he says, “Is she dead?”

  Oh, it whispers. This. This. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? Do you remember that, Bear? He was so tiny the last time he asked you that question. He was sitting on your lap and looking at you with those wide eyes of his. And he asked you if she was dead, and you choked on it, didn’t you? You just choked. And he’d asked you what was going to happen to him, didn’t he? That he was just a little guy, that he wasn’t as big as you, and what was going to happen to him? Do you remember that? I do.

  Of course I remember.

  I remember everything.

  Otter had been there to
o, and his big hands had gone to the Kid’s face, and he’d told him that he knew it was scary but that Tyson would always have someone there to take care of him. Anna. And Creed. Their parents. And Otter too, though he’d end up breaking that promise for a little while. But I haven’t blamed Otter for that for a very long time.

  So I say, “Yeah, Ty,” because it’s the only thing I can say. And I’ve said it out loud before multiple times in the previous hours, but this is the first time it’s actually felt real. Not when Izzie was in my arms, not when our family gathered in the kitchen. But here.

  This moment.

  It’s real.

  And I’m relieved. God help me, but I’m relieved.

  Because after this moment, she will never hurt us again.

  I should have had more faith in Tyson.

  Because he doesn’t break apart like I thought he would. His face scrunches up, and he’s breathing harshly in through his nose and out through his mouth like he’s fighting whatever it is that claws at his chest and throat and restricts his air. He’s fighting against it right in front of me, and though I want to charge up those stairs and shelter him from everything, I don’t. I wait, because I have to trust him. With everything we’re facing ahead, I have to trust him.

  His eyes are wet when they focus on me again. “Okay,” he says. “What do we do next?”

  SURPRISE, EVERYONE says when we go into the house.

  They try. They really do.

  Surprise, surprise, surprise.

  He smiles at them. He hugs them. But he’s distracted.

  Izzie’s in the living room. She’s dressed in her clothes, now washed and clean. She’s on her knees in front of Megan—and shit, I’d forgotten about her, and oh my fucking god I have two fucking children on the way—while her hair is being braided with deft fingers.

  But the moment she sees Ty, she’s up on her feet, wincing a little as Megan accidentally pulls on her hair. She all but launches herself across the floor and onto Tyson, eyes squeezed shut, hands wrapped tightly around his shoulders, knees digging into his sides. She’s trembling, and Ty’s hand is in her hair. He’s whispering in her ear that he’s got her, and it’s okay, kid, you’re okay now, see? You did good by coming here, you did good by coming to find me.