My Torin

by K. Webster

  “That kid is a tough cookie,” Dr. Madsen says. “Just like the rest of his family. That son of his will be tough too.”

  I laugh. “Son?”

  “Betty’s hoping for a boy.”

  “What if it’s a girl?”

  “She better like blue because my wife is knitting a blue afghan.” He chuckles. “You should go see if she’ll cook you something to eat. Your weight is down since we last checked.”

  I rub my belly. “I’m fine. I eat. The baby is healthy. I just know it.”

  He nods. “You know that old woman isn’t happy unless she’s feeding you.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. Betty and Glenn took us in after the fire until we can rebuild. They’ve been a godsend. Betty, unlike Mona, is how a real mother should be. She’s gentle and kind and loving. Every time I’m fraying apart at the seams, she sews me back together with her hugs and words of encouragement. When their daughter Liv comes over to visit and calls her Ma, I catch myself calling her Ma too. Nobody corrects me.

  Speaking of mothers.

  “Thank you. I’ll be down later,” I tell our doctor and family friend. I give him a quick hug and once he’s gone I go over to the dresser and open the file that was recovered after they arrested Mona and Carl. The file they stole from Tyler’s locked desk drawer.

  I get brave enough to open it, but then I usually close it. Something tells me I don’t want to know whatever is in the file. Another part of me just wants to know.

  The bathroom door opens and Torin emerges. I expect him to lie back down, but soon his heat is on my back. He rests his chin on the top of my head. Since the fire, Torin has been different. More affectionate—well, as affectionate as Torin can get. His eyes always need to be on me. He thrives when we’re touching. And despite the doctor’s orders to take it easy, we still find ways to have sex each night.

  I almost lost him.

  When he typed out his harrowing tale of escape, I literally got sick. Vomited up everything in my stomach. He was on death’s door. Had it not been for quick thinking, he’d be dead. But my brave, smart Torin, acted. In the face of danger, he made his mind and body work together. Not only did he save himself, but he saved his cats. They were terrified and Misty still suffers from kitty PTSD, but otherwise safe. Now Misty doesn’t comfort Torin, she seeks him for comfort. I think he prides himself on calming her down when she gets worked up. He’s certain she’ll relax once we move into our new place.

  “Casey-Casey.”

  I grab his hand and thread our fingers together. He leans into me, his nose inhaling my hair. This is us. We’re two halves of a whole. The sun and moon working together in perfect harmony.

  “I’m afraid,” I mutter. “What if…” Tears well in my eyes. “Tyler hid it from me. What if I don’t like what I read?”

  He buries his face against the side of my head and seeks my ear with his teeth. His hot breath sends currents of excitement rushing through me. “He,” he grunts. “Loved.” Another grunt. “You.”

  A tear spills down my cheek as I stare at the file. “Don’t ever leave me, Torin.”

  “Casey-Casey,” he breathes, his voice comforting me even when his hands won’t.

  I flip past the first page and pluck a picture that’s attached to a paperclip at the top. A picture of me. A tiny baby swaddled in a ratty blanket. The man holding me stares at the camera unsmiling. His wide brown eyes are sad, but his expression is otherwise emotionless. He’s wearing a cheerful Christmas sweater, but there’s nothing cheerful about the man. Several people crowd around him to stare at the baby. At me. My lips are blue, but he cradles me against him as though he has the power to warm me.

  “Dad.”

  I stiffen at Torin’s one word. Dad. With shaking hands, I flip the picture over.

  Freedom Mountain Church—December 25, 1999—Phillip Kline, Deacon

  “Your dad found me.”

  Blinking away tears, I flip through a file that is in a nutshell a catalogue of my life. Correspondence between Phillip and a private investigator. Pictures of me at school. Several requests for home checks at the sketchy foster homes that I was quickly moved from. I watch myself grow up. Most people have a flip book of memories and I have this. Some random documentation of my life from a stranger. It skips several years until around the time I came to stay with them and then it’s correspondence between Tyler and his private investigator. New pictures of me walking to Guy’s house. A college savings fund created in my name. A copy of my GED. Dr. Cohen’s business card. I find information about my mother. A news clipping of my father’s death in prison. Anything and everything that had to do with my life. All of it recorded and kept.

  “Torin,” I whine. I don’t know how to process what I’m seeing. While I was with Tyler, he knew who I was and never told me.

  I turn in Torin’s arms, unable to look at the file any longer. There are more pages to sift through but I’ll have to look through them another day when I’m feeling stronger. His fingers tangle in my hair and he roughly pulls so that I’m staring up at him. Melted chocolate eyes bore into mine.

  “Casey-Casey.” His forehead presses to mine.

  My heart is twisting and bleeding. I don’t understand any of it. I just know I feel duped and confused. A choked sound rattles from my throat.

  “He. Loved. You.” His words come on in quick grunts. “I. Love. You.”

  I’m about to open my mouth to ask why when he purposefully presses his lips to mine. His tongue thrusts out and he kisses me in a way that melts me from the inside out. As we kiss, desperate and frantic, I realize it doesn’t matter the whys. I’m here. I’m with Torin exactly as I should be.

  “Mine,” he murmurs against my mouth, sending chills down my spine.

  “Say it again.”

  “Mine.”

  I moan against his kiss when his hand settles at my hip. Each day we make progress. One day, I know we’ll be exactly where we want to be.

  “Don’t ever leave me,” I beg.

  He groans as he jerks his hand from my hip. I assume the moment is over, but he shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls something out. “No,” he growls, his word fierce and possessive. “Never.”

  I smile when his nose nuzzles mine and he takes my hand. He slips something on my finger. Immediately I recognize it as my missing ring. I let out a squeal as I bring it up to look at it. It’s no longer dull and scratched up. No longer empty. It’s been shined and restored, much like he does his pennies. My ring shines and glistens.

  It’s the flawless rock that he’s added to it.

  The prongs are new and strong. They have to be to hold on to a diamond as pure and beautiful as this one.

  “What’s this for?” I ask, hoping it means what I think it means.

  He brings my hand to his heart and sears me in his gaze. “Mine.”

  It means exactly what I thought it means.

  “Yes.”

  My Torin smiles.

  Freedom Mountain Church—December 25, 1999

  “Torin, no!” Miss Belinda cries out, her voice harsh.

  I look up from my Gameboy and frown. “What did he do?”

  Instead of answering me, she swats at his hand. The ornament he’d pulled from the tree hits the nursery floor and shatters. Miss Linda’s toddler Judith starts screaming from the crib.

  “Miss Belinda,” I mutter in shock. “Why did you hit him?” I may only be twelve, but I know when something isn’t right. Her hitting him isn’t right.

  Torin starts rocking and mumbling. I’m angry that she’d hit my brother. He’s only five. It’s not like he realized he shouldn’t touch the tree. She’s the one who made him break it.

  “I will not answer to a little boy. Respect your elders,” she huffs. “I’m going to tell your father. He’ll punish you both accordingly.”

  I shove my Gameboy in my pocket and rush over to my brother. Kneeling beside him, I quickly brush away the broken shards of the ornament so he won’t accidentally get
cut. My skin gets pierced by one of the shards, but I’m tough. It doesn’t hurt. Ignoring the bite of pain, I try to make eye contact with my brother. My mom used to be able to do it before she died, but Dad and I aren’t as lucky.

  “Hey, buddy,” I say softly, in a tone I also learned from Mom. “Are you okay?”

  “NONONONONONONONONONONO!”

  “Don’t worry about her,” I tell him.

  Judith screams and Miss Belinda gripes about how she’s never working the nursery by herself again.

  I lean in and whisper, “She’s a big dumb idiot.”

  Torin stops rocking. He doesn’t laugh. He never laughs. But he does calm considerably.

  “I bet she eats toads for supper,” I tease. “Probably eats worms for dessert. Santa probably never came to see her. I bet her house is made from coal.”

  Torin yells, “COAL!”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Miss Belinda groans.

  I grin at my brother before yelling with him. “Coal!”

  “Not you too—”

  The door bursts open and Dad charges in. His wild eyes land on mine first and then he flits them to Torin. My dad is amazing. I’m pretty sure he’s an undercover superhero. How else would he have heard the mean things Miss Belinda was saying?

  “It’s a mad house out there,” Dad says, his voice hoarse. He looks down at what he’s holding. Heartbreak flashes in his eyes. I’ve seen him look at Torin that way. Whatever’s in his arms is special.

  “Whaaaaaa!”

  Torin’s head snaps in our father’s direction and I stare up at him in surprise. A baby? Dad got us a baby?

  Miss Belinda is frantically rushing around the nursery as she and Dad exchange words. I’m too focused on our baby. I rush over to it and to my surprise, so does Torin. He stares at it but doesn’t touch it.

  Me?

  I need to touch the baby.

  Reaching out, I stroke its soft hair. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  “Girl,” Dad grunts.

  “You got us a baby?” I grin at Dad. He really is a superhero.

  His jaw clenches and he tears his gaze from mine. The baby girl wails. I want to hold her.

  Protect her. Protect her. You must protect her.

  “She’s so pretty,” I say, my mouth hurting from smiling so big. “You hear that?” I coo to her. “You’re pretty, sweetheart.”

  Torin barks out a sound, but I know that sound. It’s his happy sound. He wants the baby too.

  “She can stay in my room. I’ll take care of her, Dad. I’ve fed Judith her bottles and Miss Belinda lets me change all the diapers.” I beam at my dad.

  His brows crash together and his bottom lip wobbles. He cries so much now that Mom is gone. “I’m afraid not, bud.”

  Torin tugs at her blanket. “MINE!”

  “The police are here,” someone hollers into the nursery.

  The police?

  “MINE!” Torin yells when Dad stands with the baby.

  “I’m sorry, boys. She’ll go to a good home.”

  I scramble to my feet. “What? A good home? Our home is a great home! Dad, we want her!” Everyone says I’m brave, but I feel like crying.

  “She’s not a puppy,” Dad says harshly. “She’s a commitment. I can’t give her what she needs.”

  “I’ll feed her,” I plead, my voice cracking. “I’ll take care of her. Please, Daddy!”

  Dad shakes his head and stalks away with her in his arms.

  Torin screams after him. “MIIIIIINNNNNNNEEE!!!!”

  Hot tears leak down my cheeks. I never ask for anything. I’m a good boy. I want the baby.

  “Daddy,” I sob after him. “Daddy!”

  The door shuts behind him and Miss Belinda stands in front of it with her arms crossed over her chest.

  With tears streaming down my cheeks, I grab hold of my little brother and protect him from her. She has the mean look in her eyes and I won’t let her hit him again. I’ll hit her big ugly stomach if she even thinks about touching him again.

  Protect him. Protect him. You must protect him.

  “Mine.” Torin’s voice is a whisper.

  “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m so sorry.”

  A few days before death…

  The words I’m writing blur before me, but I get them down. I have to get them down. I owe it to her. She deserves this and so much more. One day, she’ll open that file and see her life mapped out in pictures and documents. It will be more than she’s had but still not enough. I wish I could go back in time and convince Dad to take our baby home.

  She was ours.

  She is ours.

  If only I had the guts to tell her, we could have had her all along. But I won’t live much longer and I’ll be damned if I see that crushed look on her pretty face. Just smiles. From here on out, I’ll make her smile as much as I can.

  Casey,

  You came into our lives squawking and begging for a home.

  Torin and I wanted to give it to you.

  But you were taken from us. We never saw or heard from you again.

  Our dad was sad and depressed over the loss of our mother, though, and decided against our wishes to keep you. Over the years, I begged for Dad to find you. One day he told me you moved to another city and lived with a nice family. I wanted to believe that.

  I understand now, he wasn’t fit to adopt a child. He lied to protect the ones he had. Despite not taking you home, he kept track of you. Dad was a good guy—he was just so overwhelmed with grief.

  God must have had a better plan for our girl, because you came back into our lives at the perfect time.

  An angel.

  He sent you once as a promise.

  He sent you again as a gift.

  Fate. Serendipity. Karma.

  Whatever it was, you were back and you were ours. Practically delivered right at our feet as you bounced out of Dr. Cohen’s office that day. It was magical, Casey. Torin felt the connection. I felt the connection. It was confirmed when I had my PI look into who you were that you were, in fact, ours. Two weeks later, I’d paid off Guy and you got into my car.

  You came home.

  Pastor Joe used to drone on about God’s plan. Everything happens for a reason. Life is a series of tests put before you by the Lord. Dad never bought into it. I could see it in his eyes. He thought it was an excuse. But I did believe. I believed it was more than an excuse. More than a reason to explain away the bad. God is watching over us and testing us. He’s strengthening our hearts.

  This isn’t a game.

  It’s a plan.

  I just hate that my part of the plan is over. I was just a tool in executing said plan. Can’t say I’d do anything differently, though. The precious moments I’ve had with you have been priceless. A perfect parting gift.

  Dad wasn’t a bad man. He was just brokenhearted.

  I’m sorry about your mother. She’s awful and if she ever comes around, don’t trust her. But I’m grateful as fuck she gave you up so we could have you. Call me a selfish bastard, but it’s true. I won’t apologize for that feeling.

  When I’m gone, I hope you live the life you were always meant to live.

  I hope you love my brother like we both did the moment we laid eyes on you on that snowy Christmas Day in the church nursery.

  If for some reason you think your life awaits beyond this windowless house, I’ll respect that. The home, the money, the company, the oil and gas rights are all half yours. You’ll be taken care of until the day you die.

  Until we’re reunited.

  Again.

  It happened once before and it’ll happen once again.

  And I’ll be waiting with open arms, sweetheart.

  I love you, always.

  Tyler

  Seven years later…

  I watch them from my comfy recliner in our living room through the giant windows as they work in the yard. Our home has more windows than any house I’ve ever seen. My wife designed it that way. Pride surges through me. />
  Meooowwww.

  Misty lifts her head and stares out the window too. The cats now have a kitty door so they can get in and out easily. Knowing she has a quick escape has done wonders for my cat’s PTSD. I rub my thumb across the spot on her back that no longer grows hair after she was burned there.

  Her purring soothes me.

  My petting soothes her.

  Casey plucks something from a vine and holds it up for our son to see. He’s getting so big. Looks just like his uncle Tyler. My chest expands every time I look at him. Casey’s mouth moves as she explains something to him. He nods, his expression serious as he listens.

  “Dadda.”

  The little one sleeping on my chest stirs. Just like I do my cats, I pet her hair. It’s soft like a kitten’s. She’s different than her brother. I sense a lot of myself in her. At just three, we’re starting to see signs that she may be autistic. My daughter prefers to be alone. She hates to be hugged and will completely melt down if you force it. Often, she repeats her words over and over again. Eye contact is rare. And emotions aren’t her thing.

  On the outside.

  What people don’t see is the person she is on the inside.

  I see the look of awe she has in her eyes sometimes when she sees the cats. I notice how she mutters her mother’s name over and over again when she’s upset. I realize that just because she doesn’t like to be hugged doesn’t mean that she can’t still find ways to connect.

  Naps are spent on my chest. She loves her hair to be stroked.

  The iPad has been loaded down with apps to help her communicate. Glenn says that will get better as she gets older and can read.

  Her brother is patient and kind to her. And even though she doesn’t grace him with a smile, love ripples from her for him. She watches him play and do his homework. Her eyes track his movements as he feeds the horses and cares for the cats. The girl adores her brother.