Saving Thomas

by A. L. Moore

  When I opened my eyes, the sun was much brighter, harsh even, as it intruded into my room. My knee throbbed but not as bad as my head. I tried to sit up, but the pounding only got worse. I slumped back to the pillow for a minute. Then, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to sit up and reach for the crutches propped against the headboard. I squinted in the hall light and glanced toward the stairs. I’d made it up them with no trouble last night but going down posed more of a problem. My head swam just peering over the bannister.

  “Breelynn’s that you?”

  “Yeah, Mama. I’ll be down in a minute,” I said, my voice piercing my own ears.

  “No, you won’t,” she said hurriedly, appearing at the bottom of the stairs, her face in a deep frown. “Don’t you move an inch. Thomas was right outside the door. I’ll grab him.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I started, but she was already gone.

  Thomas appeared in less than a minute, his blue jeans splattered with what I hoped was mud, and his shirt more orange than white. He dusted his hands on the back of his pants and jogged to meet me.

  “I don’t need your help,” I insisted, trying to readjust my weight so the crutch wasn’t pressing so hard into my armpit.

  He crossed his arms, still glistening from work and narrowed his eyes. “You never do,” he said, scooping me up and carrying me to the couch. “Can I get you anything else,” he asked, giving me a once over. “A hairbrush?”

  “Yeah and while you’re at it, get yourself some deodorant,” I scowled.

  “I’m covered in horse shit,” he countered, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think they make an antiperspirant strong enough for that.”

  “That’s okay, Thomas,” Mama stepped in. “I can take it from here.”

  “Not a problem, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. The Rhett Butler routine was fooling no one. I gripped the remote and brought it behind my head ready to give it a launch into his retreating backside. Unfortunately, Mama was blocking my path with an expression that had me placing the remote back on the coffee table.

  “Feel like company?” Katy asked, sticking her head in the front door.

  “Come on in, Katy,” Mama said, shaking her head at me. “I’ve got to get back to Jenny anyhow. She’s covered up to her elbows in spaghetti sauce.

  Mama disappeared inside the kitchen as Katy took her place. “Hey, girl,” she said, perching on the end of the coffee table in front of me. “Daddy told me what happened yesterday. You alright?”

  “I’m fine,” I groaned into the cushion. “I just wish people would stop talking about it.”

  “You saved that boy’s life,” she said in awe.

  “Some hero, I grumbled. I saved the jackass but couldn't save the horse.”

  She sniggered leaning closer, poking the skin around my kneecap and leaving a white fingerprint in her wake. I gave her a hard shove.

  “That’s a bruise, dumba…butt,” I caught myself, knowing Mama was just inside the kitchen.

  She drew her hand back with a frown, “Sorry. You must really love Thomas,” she mused. “I’d probably’ve just let Drew drown.” she added somberly.

  “Oh, Katy, you would not,” I said, shoving her again. “Anyone would’ve done the same. Your daddy said himself that he was about to jump in if I hadn’t.”

  “Maybe,” she allowed, “but still…”

  “Thomas is a jerk,” I said quickly before she could start back on the whole love thing again. If Mama heard her, I’d never hear the end of it.

  Her eyes narrowed ready to strike. That's what made Katy my best friend. She'd go after anyone who hurt her family, and bloodlines notwithstanding she was my sister. “What did he do?” she asked lowering her voice to a whisper as she leaned in close to my face.

  “Pop-tart for breakfast?” I asked, leaning away from her, my stomach rolling at the sweet smell.

  She smiled, embarrassed and covered her mouth. “Yeah, strawberry. Sorry.”

  “I think it’s just the meds. They make me nauseous.”

  She drummed her fingers on the coffee table, waiting. My head couldn’t take anymore. “Please.” I covered her hand until she stilled.

  “Thomas didn’t do anything, okay? He did absolutely nothing.”

  “Oh?” she said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “But Daddy told me Thomas buried Addy.

  “Yeah, so.”

  “Said it took him hours,” she hedged, quirking a brow, “because he wanted you to be able to see her grave from the house.

  “Still, I can’t believe he ain’t helpin’ you with your leg, you should give him a good swat with one of those ugly crutches.”

  “Well,” I started, grudgingly. “He did carry me back to the house last night…and then, to the couch before you got here.” She clearly found more insight to his gestures than was truly there, her eyes going all dreamy.

  “Gawl, Breelynn, he carried you a mile, after nearly drowning, and buried your horse.” She clamped her hand over my mouth before I could point out that it was nowhere close to a mile to the river. “And then, came in from cleaning a fly infested, bloody barn to bring you downstairs.” Her face scrunched up as she peered out the window. “Really, the smell out there is worse than shit on a shingle in the middle of a heatwave in July.

  “What do you want him to do, erect a statue?” She’d left out that he’d come to check on me last night when I gotten home from the hospital, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Don’t listen to ole sour puss,” Mama said from around the corner. “Thomas has been nothing but gracious.”

  “Mama!” There had to be more privacy in a dorm, even if you did have to share it with a roommate. “Stop listenin’!”

  “Well, he has,” she went on as if I’d said nothing. “He’s a man, Breelynn. It’s harder for him to say what’s inside. You need to listen to Katy. Hauling Addy all the way back to the house said more than any words.”

  “Fine,” I snapped, assaulting my pounding head. “Thomas is a saint. Saint Thomas. Maybe he should relocate to the Virgin Islands. Now, will you please go get His Royal Highness so I can go back to my room?”

  “I’ll go get him,” Katy said eagerly, jumping to her feet and smoothing her yellow sundress.

  “Is your knee bothering you again?” Mama asked, feeling of my head when I scowled.

  “Not as bad as my head,” I admitted, closing my eyes.

  “It’s probably the pain medicine,” she sighed. “I wish you’d stay downstairs so I can keep an eye on you. It’s hard to run back and forth with Jenny on my heels.” She looked worried, touching my cheek with the back of her hand and glancing back at Jenny who was busy dumping all of her crayons into the floor.

  “I’m fine, Mama,” I encouraged, trying to smile, but it hurt.

  “I just worry that you have a concussion,” she sighed.

  Thomas was coming through the back door now, Katy smiling broadly at his side.

  “The doctor told you I didn’t,” I reminded her. “It’s the medicine, like you said. My head was fine until I took it this morning.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, looking to where Daddy stood under a cloud of smoke on the back steps. “Maybe we should have them check again just to be safe.”

  “What happened?” Thomas asked, crossing his arms and looking pensively at Mama. The minute I saw him, I regretted my decision. I would gladly stay downstairs if I didn’t have to look at that self-assured, smug expression, like he actually cared.

  “Nothing happened,” I said, forcing myself onto my good leg. “I just have a headache.” He was already by my side, reaching to pick me up. “I’ve got it,” I stopped him, holding my hand up. “You can go.

  “Katy?” I called. She was still hovering by Thomas’s other side. “If you will let me lean on you until I get to the bannister, I can make it the rest of the way.”

  Thomas clearly wasn’t amused but held his hands up and stepped out of the way.

  “I don’t know,” Katy
said after the first couple of steps. Her shoulder did feel weak under my arm compared to Thomas’s.

  “Fine,” I said, letting go of her and hopping on one foot across the room. The pain was excruciating, but I kept my lips tightly together.

  “Are you done?” Thomas asked, when I white knuckled the bannister.

  “Yes, she is,” Daddy answered for me. “Stop being stubborn, Breelynn and let Thomas help you, or I will drive you back to the hospital myself.” Daddy placed a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and gestured toward the stairs. “Thomas why don’t you come in and help keep an eye on Breelynn, so she doesn’t break her neck. You shouldn’t be out in the heat after yesterday, either. Sit back and take in some water,” Daddy said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “We’ll still pay you for a full day’s work,” Daddy spoke up when Thomas started to protest.

  “Really, Daddy, Katy can sit with me,” I said, eyeing her from across the room.

  She shifted nervously, glancing from me to Daddy. “I’d like to Breelynn, really I would, but I’ve got to babysit. Mama’s at work. I only ran over to check on you because Daddy took a break to eat a sandwich with the boys. They’ll burn the place to the ground without me over there.”

  “You go on home,” Mama said, ushering her to the door. “It was sweet of you to come by. Tell Gerald, thanks.” With the close of the door, I knew the argument was lost.

  The only person who looked even less thrilled about the situation, was Thomas.

  Chapter 19

  The television played at a low volume in the corner. I’d only turned it on for him. There was nothing on but soap operas and an infomercial about a mop, neither of which were too appealing. He’d left my room only once, to shower, since placing me on my bed. Since then, he’d been staring out my window, across the yard, probably thinking of all the places he’d rather be. I pulled out the book Katy lent me and hoped to keep my eyes off my new warden.

  “You can leave, you know?” I said again, to the back of his fresh, green t-shirt that I knew without looking did amazing things to his eyes. “Slip down the hall to your room. No one would be the wiser.” He shook his head without turning around. “I won’t tell. I promise.”

  “Would you please just be quiet,” he huffed. “Read your book.”

  “Why? Do you have a headache now, too?” I asked, pulling open the drawer on the nightstand. “This will take care of it,” I said, shaking the prescription bottle at him. A couple of the pills and I could roll him out of my room.

  “Isn’t that what gave you the headache to start with?” he frowned over his shoulder. “Besides, you’re the only one who can make my headache go away,” he said, turning back to the window.

  “How’s that?”

  “Shut your mouth,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned my desk chair back on two legs, propping his feet on the windowsill.

  “You shut your mouth,” I said, launching the book across the room. It missed him by an inch, making the glass rattle on the windowpane.

  “Why do you do that?” he said, the chair slamming to the floor as he retrieved the book.

  “Do what?”

  “Act like you don’t want me here?” he asked, tossing the book to my bed.

  “Who says it’s an act?” I said angrily. “I thought I was being pretty straightforward but just in case you missed the point, get the hell out of my room.”

  He stared at me for a long minute before stalking out the door. I laid there, drifting in and out of consciousness and trying to contemplate what it would really be like to marry a rock star, and why no one had turned this book into a movie yet. When Mama turned the doorknob, I expected it to be Thomas. “What do you want now?” I said, without opening my eyes.

  “Just thought you might want to know that Thomas is leaving,” she said, giving me a pointed look as she wiped her hands on her apron.

  “He mentioned something about that the other day,” I said, sticking my head back under the sheet. “He has another job,” I yawned.

  “He’s leaving…now,” she clarified. “Your daddy said he’s packing.

  “Good riddance,” I said under my breath, though it was the last thing I felt. My chest ached at the thought of him leaving, and it made me that much angrier.

  “You might not get another chance to say goodbye,” she hedged, pulling the door to.

  I knew what she meant. The last time, I wasn’t given the opportunity. Could I really afford to be stubborn and let him go without a goodbye, again?

  I waited until I heard her feet on the stairs before throwing the sheet back and stiffly reaching for the crutches. His door was open. He was busy rolling a stack of t-shirts.

  “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye…again,” I asked, balancing against the doorframe. His hands froze for a second before stuffing another shirt into the duffel bag.

  “This is different,” he said evenly, his eyes troubled beneath his dark lashes. “I didn’t have a choice the last time.”

  “You didn’t have a phone, either?” I asked, keeping my voice low so it wouldn’t break. It was harder to watch him pack than I ever would’ve imagined. I’d always thought if I could’ve just been there to see him go, to say goodbye, that things would’ve been better, easier, but I’d been wrong. Watching him shove his life into a duffel bag, not leaving a shred of evidence in the empty dresser of his presence, was like watching a nightmare form before my very eyes. There was no doubt I’d be reliving this moment for many haunted nights to come.

  “It was better that way. Goodbyes never do anyone any good.” Holding the oversized, army green duffel in one hand, he zipped it with the other. “A phone call wouldn’t have changed that.”

  Maybe he was right. One phone call wouldn’t’ve changed a thing. I turned to leave but my crutch caught on the carpet. My hand shot out for the doorframe as the crutch fell to the floor. I tried shifting my weight to the other leg, but the pain was too much in that knee. Bracing for the inevitable, I saw the carpet coming closer just as Thomas’s arms lifted me up.

  “You are going to break your neck,” he scowled, supporting most of my weight as I tried to balance on one foot. “Why didn’t you stay in bed?”

  “Didn’t you miss me?” I asked, grasping his forearms for balance. I knew better than to wait for a response. The only person I’d ever met more stubborn than myself was Thomas. He wouldn’t even meet my eyes, but that was fine. If he was going to leave anyway, there was no sense in holding back. He might not need a goodbye, but I was leaving nothing unsaid this time. “I missed you, Thomas.” The words were harder to say than I expected. “I missed you so much and you didn’t write. You didn’t call. Wasn’t I worth at least a phone call? A letter? Anything?”

  “Let’s not do this now,” he said, trying to make space between us, his eyes darting to my crutches on the floor. It would be near impossible for him to reach them without letting me go.

  “If not now, when? In four years when you need another job? I barely recognized you this time. Next time you better where a sign, so I don’t walk right by you.”

  “Be reasonable, Breelynn,” he said, his voice gruff, still putting up a wall.

  “No,” I insisted, bringing my hands to his chest when I was sure he wasn’t going to let me go. “Do you know what the worst part of this whole thing is? I honestly thought you came back here for me. I thought you’d been going through the same hell without me that I’ve been going through since the day I found your room empty. And then, to have you walk in and look at me, or not look at me, like— You looked at me like I was a stranger,” I paused, searching his eyes. Making sure he saw me. Really saw me. “That hurt even worse than you not being here.

  “What did you expect? I would walk through the door and we’d pick up right where we left off?” he demanded. “I was in high school then. That was a lifetime ago for me.”

  “For you, maybe, but I didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been walking the same fields, riding the same paths an
d staring out the same window my whole life, and it feels like yesterday to me.”

  “You’re just too young to understand,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Too young? Did you really just say that to me?” I gave him some room now, leaning back against the doorframe. “Was I too young the nights I hid you from the cops or the hours we spent talking in the fields? I loved you so much. Was I wrong to believe that you loved me, because if you didn’t, maybe I am too young to understand?”

  With some of my weight off him, he bent for my crutches. Hopping on my good leg, I repositioned them beneath my sore arms, knowing I couldn’t stand this way much longer without sitting. It was humiliating enough to have said everything I’d been holding in for four years. There was no need to add falling on my face to the list. With another deliberate hop into the hall, I turned toward my room.

  “Wait,” he stopped me, his hand restraining my wrist as his eyes stared at the ceiling before closing briefly and landing back on me. There was a resolve there that wasn’t there before. His shoulders fell as he stepped closer. The tension that appeared to leave him saturated the room. The seconds ticked by like those of the last day of school before summer break. We stared into each other’s eyes, his a deep reflective green that finally appeared to be opening up. “You’re right.”

  “You didn’t love me?” I asked, my heart faltering painfully.

  “Of course, I loved you. I still love you, Bree.”