Bring Me Home

by Cassia Leo

  I follow after her as she climbs the steps up to the concourse level. We’re both silent as we walk through the parking lot to her car. As she digs through her purse for her car keys, I try to think of a joke to ease the tension.

  “What’s that on your face?” I say as I reach up and swipe my thumb across her cheek. “Oh, it’s just beauty.”

  She presses her lips together as she tries not to laugh.

  “Don’t worry. I wiped it off.”

  She chuckles as she shakes her head. “Oh, Adam.”

  “I’ll text you some more jokes later.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  We stare at each other for a moment, unsure of where to go from here. The buzzing sound of my phone vibrating in my pocket breaks the silence. As she deactivates her car alarm and reaches for the door handle, I grab her hand. She freezes and I wait a moment, allowing myself to take in the soft warmth of her skin.

  “I’m here for you whenever you need to talk. I want you to feel like you can call on me.”

  “I just need some time to think things over.” She glances at my pocket as the buzzing continues. “You should answer that.”

  She quickly slides into the driver’s seat and slams her door shut before she pulls out of the parking space and drives away. I slide my phone out of my pocket as I begin walking back toward the space where I parked my truck. I have three missed calls from Lindsay and one voicemail. I hit the voicemail icon and listen.

  “Adam, I’m sorry to call you like this, but Nathan’s in California and I don’t know who else to call. I need your help. Please call me back.”

  That UNC game and that voicemail from Lindsay happened two weeks ago. I wish I could say I deleted her voicemail and her phone number from my address book right then and there. Instead, two weeks later, I’m sitting in my truck outside Lindsay’s apartment in Durham on a Saturday morning.

  Chapter Three

  Chris

  This morning’s meeting with Xander has my mind spinning. I want to share the good news with Claire, but I don’t want her to feel pressured. I think the biggest mistake I made with Claire, besides not contacting her while I was on tour, was telling her about the possibility of an open adoption. I should never have gotten her hopes up. But I plan on fixing the mess we’re in with Abby.

  I slide into the driver’s seat of the Porsche and turn the key in the ignition. The radio comes on and “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie is playing. This is the only song Claire knows how to play on the guitar. She always got frustrated when I tried to teach her to play anything new, but she let me teach her this song all the way through. Just thinking about this makes me miss the fuck out of her.

  Pulling out of the parking lot, I drive away from Xander’s office feeling more hopeful than I’ve felt since before Claire broke up with me last year. The deal I’ve worked out with Arista Records allows me to move the recording sessions to a studio in Raleigh. They’re also willing to try to book the entire tour for the summer when Claire’s on break. I can do a few shows here and there, two to four shows a month, and I’ll still be able to be here for Claire.

  I can’t tell Claire until I get the agreement in writing, but I’m confident that it will be settled soon and Claire can come on tour with me in the summer. I pull my car into a parking space at Wickedly Sweet, my mom’s bakery, feeling more optimistic than ever. When I walk into the shop, Melina is standing behind the counter, loading more cupcakes into the display case.

  “Is my mom here?” I ask, though I already saw my mom’s van parked outside.

  Melina slides the tray of cupcakes into the display and looks up at me with a surprised expression. “Yeah, she’s in the office. Do you want me to call her?”

  “No, it’s okay. I know my way back there.”

  A thin woman with bleached blond hair looks away from the display of cupcakes and her eyes widen when she sees me. I continue behind the counter and slink past Melina, being careful not to touch her, as I make my way into the kitchen area. I walk past a stainless steel worktable stacked with empty steel bowls and toward the back of the shop. When I enter my mom’s tiny office, she’s leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed.

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  She jumps a little and lays her hand flat on the desk to steady herself. “Jesus, Chris!”

  “Why are you sleeping in your office? Didn’t you sleep last night?”

  She shakes her head as she arranges a messy pile of papers into a neat pile on her desk. “No, I didn’t. I’m worried about Claire.”

  “Please don’t do this to yourself. She’s working things out right now. We need to give her some time and space to do that.” I reach my hand out to her and she grabs it so I can pull her up from the chair. “When she’s ready, she’ll come back. She just got a little lost.”

  My mom’s face scrunches up as if she’s in physical pain then she wraps her arms around me. “I don’t want her to be lost. I just want her to come home.”

  I rub her back as she sobs into my shoulder. “I have some good news. Do you want to hear it?”

  “God, yes.” She lets go of me and wipes her face as she steps out of her office and into the kitchen area.

  I lean back on the edge of the worktable and smile hugely. “I might be able to do the album and the tour without leaving Claire. I talked to Gene and he said he’s going to try to get the production team to fly out to Raleigh next week.”

  My mom’s jaw drops. “I think that’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”

  “Good. As soon as I hear back from Gene, I’m going to surprise Claire with the news.” I heave a deep sigh as I think of all the things that can go right and wrong when I deliver this news to her. “I miss her so much.”

  “You said it, when she’s ready she’ll come back.”

  I nod my head, though I’m not entirely sure if that’s true. “I know. Well, I just wanted to give you the good news and to ask you a favor. Can you call Rachel and convince her to tell Claire she doesn’t have to be in the wedding? She’s not answering my calls.”

  My mom shakes her head as she grabs a large, steel bowl from a shelf. “Chris, sweetheart, you have to let Claire make her own decisions. If she wants to be in the wedding, let her be in the wedding.”

  “But she doesn’t want to be in the wedding. I heard it in her voice.”

  “She doesn’t want to let Rachel down. I saw it in her face. Let her do something nice for somebody else. It’s good for her.”

  I try not to roll my eyes as I push away from the table. “I’m going to pick up Tristan. Do you need anything before I go?”

  “Where are you going with him?”

  “We’re going to a friend’s house. Why?”

  “A girl?”

  “No, not a girl. We’re going to Billy’s house. You remember Billy? He came over three weeks ago to pick up some pedals.” She eyes me suspiciously. “Mom, I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’ll be back by six at the latest. Tristan and I have to practice in case we start recording next week.” I kiss her cheek as she pries open a large plastic tub of flour. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Wait a minute,” she calls out when I’m halfway across the kitchen. “What’s going on with the baby?”

  My mom hasn’t been able to say Abigail’s name. I think she feels that speaking her name aloud will make her more real and more difficult to let go.

  “I can’t say. I’m not bringing you or Claire into this until I get it figured out. I don’t want to get your hopes up. But I’m working on it. I’m not giving up.”

  She nods and I head out of the kitchen quickly before she can question me anymore. The subject of Abby is not a subject I like to discuss with anyone. Ever since my dad left, I’ve never really been the type of person to talk about my problems unless it’s to try to find a solution. And there’s no solution when your parent up and abandons you. The only person I’ve ever bared my soul to is Claire, but this isn’t something I c
an talk to her about yet. I need to give her some time to heal and I need to figure out what’s going to happen with the post adoption agreement before I discuss anything with her. Until then, I’ll pretend to be strong, even though the truth is that I feel like more than half of my heart is missing.

  I wave at Melina as I pass her on the way out of the store. The smell of downtown Raleigh is an unpleasant jolt compared to the sweet smell of the bakery.

  The truth is, Tasha, my adoption lawyer, and I are still trying to figure out a plan to approach Abigail’s parents again. I’m not giving up on my daughter. And I’m trying really hard not to blame Claire for Abigail’s parents backing out of the open adoption agreement. I know that if Claire has a chance to see Abigail, to hold her, it will heal her; the way holding Abby’s hand in the hospital changed something inside me. But I won’t discuss this with Claire unless we have an agreement in place or a visit scheduled. I want nothing less than yearly visitations.

  Tasha already drew up a new agreement that I plan to present to the Jensens myself. It details the visitation and communication rights and what I’m willing to do to secure those. I just hope that the things I’m willing to sacrifice are enough.

  Chapter Four

  Claire

  From the time my mother died when I was seven to the day I arrived on Jackie’s doorstep when I was fifteen, I was convinced I was invisible. Like Schrodinger’s cat, I only existed when someone observed me. But the way Chris and Jackie saw me changed everything. I wasn’t a nuisance or a paycheck. I was a real person who didn’t need to cause trouble to be noticed and respected. Chris and Jackie changed everything, and by everything I mean me.

  Dr. Goldberg and I sit across the desk from each other. I’m trying not to tap my foot impatiently as he writes notes in his file regarding everything I just told him about my years in the foster care system—well, almost everything. Only Chris knows everything that happened before I came to live with him and Jackie. Chris was always there when I needed to talk about heavy subjects, like the day he came to my dorm six weeks ago to comfort me when he found out about my mother’s suicide. Now I have Dr. Goldberg to talk to, but I can’t even bring myself to tell him about the letter I’ve been carrying around in my purse for five weeks.

  Right now, the only person who knows about the letter is Senia, and she insists that I need to respond. She thinks I need to meet my sister, Nichelle. Though Senia’s never said it, I think she’s just as worried as I am that Nichelle is in danger of being violated by her father the same way my mother was. Preventing something like that from happening is not a responsibility I ever thought I’d have placed on my shoulders. My soul is already buckling under the weight of my own responsibilities. But Senia is right. I need to meet Nichelle. I need to look in her eyes and see for myself that she hasn’t been broken the way my mother was.

  “How did you feel when you were told your mother’s death may have been a suicide?” Dr. Goldberg asks.

  His face is kind and relaxed and his slightly messy crown of black curls combined with the brown sweater he wears makes me feel relaxed.

  “I felt like I had just been told that my mother never loved me.”

  “Do you still feel that way?” he asks as he continues to jot down notes.

  “Sometimes.” He pauses for a moment and I take a deep breath before I continue. “My mother was raped.”

  “By her uncle?”

  “No, her uncle’s son also raped her when she was seventeen.”

  He looks up from his notepad curiously. “Seventeen? That would have been three years after the alleged molestation by her uncle ceased?”

  I hate that he always says alleged molestation. It makes me feel like we’re in a courtroom instead of an office.

  “Yes. He’s my father.”

  I’m having second thoughts now. I don’t know if I can trust him enough to tell him about the letter. What if he insists on calling child protective services? Not that it would matter. If there’s anything I learned in the foster care system, it’s that CPS rarely takes preemptive action. They’re almost always too late.

  The look Goldberg gives me is meant to be sympathetic, I suppose, but I sense a bit of betrayal, as if he’s upset that I didn’t tell him about my father sooner. That’s when I realize I can’t tell him about the letter. I have to tell Chris first.

  If there’s anyone who will understand what I’m feeling right now, it’s Chris. He hasn’t seen or spoken to his father since he was six.

  I stand from my chair suddenly and slide my purse strap onto my shoulder. “I have to go now.”

  “Don’t forget to call Janine to schedule your next appointment.”

  I smile as I scurry out of the office, eager to get out of this building. Our dorm in Spencer Hall is clear across campus and I still have a ton of reading to do for Professor Coldwater’s class—not that I’m looking forward to reading about divorce and stepfamilies.

  By the time I make it into the dorm, Senia is already sitting on her bed with her laptop open and her earbuds in place. She smiles at me and goes back to doing whatever she was doing. I let my backpack drop on the floor then set my purse down on the desk. I dig my hand into the bottom of the purse and pull out the letter from my father.

  The neat handwriting on the outside makes me anxious. I think I saw or read somewhere that serial killers often have very messy or very neat handwriting. I don’t think my father is a serial killer, but maybe the same handwriting analysis applies to serial rapists.

  My heart pounds as I slide my phone out of my pocket and dial Chris’s number. He picks up on the second ring.

  “Hey, babe.”

  He still calls me babe even though I rejected his marriage proposal. It doesn’t even bother me anymore. It really got on my nerves when he did it while I was still with Adam, but now… it just feels natural.

  “Chris, I have to tell you something.”

  There’s a pause as he probably tries to decide whether he wants to know what I’m about to tell him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Well, no, not really. I…. I got a letter from my father five weeks ago and I think I may need to go to California to meet him.”

  There’s a rustling noise as he moves then, “Hey! I’m gonna take this outside. I’ll be right back,” he says to someone.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m with Xander and Tristan. We’re scoping out a studio in Chapel Hill.”

  “I’ll let you go if you’re busy.”

  “I’m never too busy for you. So, wait a minute, you got a letter from your father? The one who raped your mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Exactly. What am I supposed to do? He has another daughter, four years younger than me, the same age as my mom when he raped her. I can’t just ignore that.”

  He sighs and I dig my nails into the palm of my hand as I wait for his response. “Claire, I think we may have found a studio here in Chapel Hill,” he says, as if I didn’t just tell him my half-sister is living with a rapist. “I made a deal with Arista Records that this album would be acoustic so that we’d have a higher chance of finding a studio in this area. Most of the studios are only equipped for acoustic recordings. I did that for you, so I could be close to you while I’m recording. I want to be here for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Chris. I told you that you should go to L.A.”

  “I don’t want to go to L.A. And the deal is already done, for the most part. We just have to find a studio now. But my point is, I want to take you to California to meet your dad and your sister, but I need a couple of weeks to record.”

  “That’s it? I thought you were going to tell me I’m crazy for even thinking of meeting him.” I sit down in the desk chair as the tension in my shoulders begins to ease a little. “I can wait a few weeks. I have to wait. Winter break doesn’t start for another five weeks.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll be kissing under the mist
letoe in California.”

  “Shut up.”

  He chuckles and I wish I were there to see him smile.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “I have to get back in there before Xander goes into full bitch-mode.”

  “I’m fine. Go handle your business.”

  “Hey!” he calls out before I can hang up.

  “What?”

  “Have a good Thanksgiving with Senia.”

  My chest floods with warmth that spreads through my entire body. “Thanks. Give your mom a hug for me.”

  “I’ll let you do that next time you come over. Goodnight, babe.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I can hardly breathe. I want to curl up in bed and forget about my father and the two rings on my nightstand. I want to wake up five weeks from now, in California, where the only thing that matters is meeting my sister.

  I have a little sister.

  It’s funny how having someone else to look after changes your entire outlook on life. I never got to feel that with Abigail. To go to sleep one night with your child nestled inside you and wake up the next with no evidence your child ever existed is like waking up in a nightmare that never ends. As much as I want to feel like nothing has changed between Chris and me, everything has changed. And by everything I mean me.

  Chapter Five

  Adam

  The first time Lindsay called me, after not having spoken to her for over eight months, I think time stopped along with my heart. My first thought, when I heard Lindsay’s voice, was that the DNA test results had been botched. I was certain that Lindsay was calling to tell me that I’m the father of her newborn child. She wanted to know if I’d heard from Nathan, which made me laugh. She told me she hadn’t heard from him in a few days and to please let her know if I heard from him. The second time she called, during the football game, it took everything in me not to answer the phone and lose my shit.

  Instead, what I discovered is that the true father of her child, the guy she left me for eight months ago, has pretty much abandoned her and their child. After the competition in California, where Nathan Jennings qualified to go to the ASP qualifier competition in Australia, Lindsay claims that Nathan began acting strange. Then he insisted he needed to go back to California for another competition, which is when Lindsay quickly realized what I’ve known since I met Nathan Jennings over six years ago: he’s full of shit. And he’s not ready to be a father.

  I don’t believe in karma, but if I did, I would most certainly say that this is Lindsay getting payback for what she did to me. But I don’t believe in karma. And, having gone through it myself, I actually feel sympathetic.

  Of course, I may be sympathetic, but I’m not stupid.

  As she steps out of the rear unit of the small duplex, where she and Nathan lived together before he decided to ditch her three weeks ago, I can’t help but feel like something stronger than sympathy has pulled me back here.

  She smiles at the baby she’s cradling in her arms as she locks the door. Kaia. A Hawaiian name meaning “the sea or restful place.” Those are both things I used to associate with Lindsay. She was the only girl I’d been with who wasn’t a professional surfer and still loved the ocean as much as I do—until I met Claire. And my relationship with Lindsay was comfortable, restful, until the last three or four months when everything fell apart.

  She looks through the windshield at me and I’m tempted to go help her with the car seat and the diaper bag she’s carrying along with the baby, but I’m afraid. It feels like something only Nathan should do, but that’s just stupid. A friend can help another friend carry a fucking car seat. I scramble out of the car and scurry over to help her.

  “Actually, can you take Kaia? I need to strap the car seat in,” Lindsay says.

  I stare at the baby for a moment. This is the second time I’m taking Lindsay and Kaia to the hospital. Two weeks ago, I took them to the emergency room for some type of stomach virus that had Kaia vomiting for over twenty-four hours. Today, it’s just for vaccinations. Lindsay claims she’s trying to find a roommate to help her out with the other half of the rent now that Nathan is gone. She doesn’t want to move in with her parents in Carolina Beach. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I have a feeling she’s hoping I’ll offer to help her out.