A Long Way Home

by Becky Doughty

  But I knew his email address, and about a month after Killian was born, I found a Kinkos near where we were performing at the time, created a temporary email account, and sent Jordan a message. I knew I was taking advantage of him in the worst way, but I begged him for information about my parents. I’d been sending them short letters and cards every month to let them know I was all right, but because I didn’t want to be found, I’d made a point to mail them from obscure pit stops along the route we traveled, and I never used a return address. Which meant even though they’d heard from me, the only news I had of them was what was on the Internet or in the papers when I could get access to one. And even then, there wasn’t much after the initial hoopla had died down. The note I left on my pillow that night had clearly stated that I was leaving of my own free will because I felt stifled by my parents’ strict rules. I wrote that I wanted to spread my wings and to please not come looking for me because I did not want to be found.

  They looked for me anyway. Regardless of how reasonable my note might have sounded to a stranger, my parents must have known running away was the last thing I’d ever do, unless under great duress. Which I had been.

  If I’d been the only one who would have to face the fallout of the mess I’d made, I might have stayed. But that wasn’t the case. My friends, whose intentions had been good, if a bit misguided, would be wracked with guilt over what had happened. My parents, conservative and reserved, upright and dignified, would be hurt beyond bearing. Even though I knew in my heart of hearts they’d love me and love my child, regardless of how he was conceived, I knew they’d be devastated. Besides, surely the church would reconsider my father’s position as pastor if I stayed and asked Dad and Mom to help me raise a fatherless child. The consequences of my actions would change lives in the worst ways, and I couldn’t do that to them.

  So I left.

  Jordan and I argued via email for over an hour the day I contacted him. First, he begged me to come home. He said he’d come get me, no matter where I was. Then he demanded I let him at least know where I was or he wouldn’t give me what I wanted. When that didn’t work, he threatened to forward my emails to my parents, or worse, to the police. I immediately deleted the account and didn’t return to that store. A month later, from a small-town library, I did it all again, and that time, he agreed to keep my secret if I promised to give him a phone number where I could be reached, just in case something happened to my parents. I actually had a phone by then—Marek had given me one, “So I will always be able to find you, Savah,” he’d said—but I hadn’t wanted to use it to contact Jordan, just in case he refused to agree to my terms. Besides, I knew Marek monitored my usage, most likely every key stroke.

  Jordan had assured me my parents were all right. “They’re sad, Savannah. They miss you so much. We all do,” he’d written, and I could hear his kind voice saying the words as I read them. “Everyone just wants you home.”

  I wrote him short, vague emails whenever I could find a place with access to computers. I told him about my friends—my roommates, I called them—but not where we lived, and certainly not what we did for a living. I ached for news from home, and he gave it to me, filling me in on the comings and goings of Maple Avenue. Jordan had graduated a few months after we started communicating again, but to my surprise, he’d turned down an offer from one of the major movie companies in Los Angeles. Instead, he’d moved back home and taken a part-time job at Midtown University as a set designer for the drama department. He seemed reticent to give me reasons, and because I wasn’t forthcoming with very much about me, I never pushed when I felt like I was bumping up against a barrier on his end.

  It was from Jordan that I learned my parents had opened their home to Sebastian Jeffries, a guy who had been mentally and physically abused by his father for most of his life. Sebastian was the guitar player in Tish Ransome’s amazing band, and he also happened to be Tish’s current boyfriend. They’d been dating almost a year now, and Jordan thought they were pretty serious. As if dating a girl with four older brothers hasn’t kept Jeffries on his best behavior already, now the poor guy is renting a room from a pastor. Couldn’t ask for a better arrangement for my little sister, Jordan wrote. Sebastian had taken over the guest room, and my bedroom, Jordan assured me, remained untouched, just as I’d left it, in the hope I’d return someday. I was glad for this Sebastian guy, and for my parents, these people who both needed what the other had to offer. Sanctuary for one, someone to nurture for the others.

  Knowing I’d regret it, I dug my phone out of my favorite patchwork hobo bag—a handmade birthday gift from Pella—and turned it on. Twelve missed calls, all from Jordan, and three new text messages. The guy was relentless. I dropped into a chair and stared at the screen for almost five minutes before I broke down and read the first text.

  Sent 7:34 PM - Hey. Jordan here. Please call me! If you won’t call me back, at least listen to my messages as soon as you see this. I’m coming to pick you up. I’ll be there in an hour - between 8:30 and 8:45.

  Eight-thirty? It was almost a quarter after now! I scrolled down and read more.

  Sent 7:58 PM - Please, Savannah. It’s an emergency. I’ll be there in half an hour. Call me, please!

  Sent 8:13 PM - I’m 20 minutes away. I’ll call when I pull into the parking lot. Please pick up.

  I dialed my voice mail. The first two messages were short and frustrated, Jordan asking me to call him back ASAP. The third message, he spoke calmly, keeping his voice moderated in spite of his words.

  “Savannah, it’s Jordan. I hate leaving this on a voice mail, but you may not call me back otherwise. Your mom was in a car accident a couple of hours ago. I told my mom I saw you today and that I’m coming to get you. She said it was a God thing, us meeting today of all days, and practically shoved me out the door. She also told me to tell you she can’t wait to see you. And Killian. She knows about Killian, too.” He sounded like he was moving around, and then a car door slammed in the background. “I didn’t want you to have to come back here tonight without someone already knowing. It will be hard enough coming home under these circumstances, but you have my mom and me for starters. My dad is at the hospital with your dad. Mom’s heading over there now to talk to them, to let them know you’re coming.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a big huff, distorting the speaker in my trembling hands. “Your mom is in surgery right now, but she should be out by the time we get there. I’ll fill you in on what details I know on the ride home. I’m driving now, so I have to hang up.” There was a brief pause. “Savannah, I don’t know where you’ll be when I get there. I need you to call me. I’m not coming home without you.”

  By the time I hung up the phone, I’d already grabbed most of the street clothes Killian and I owned from one of the tiny closets at the back of the camper and was shoving them into two tie-dyed linen bags. Marek had his own closet—the man had more clothes than anyone I knew, especially for traveling Faire folk. As I stuffed Killian’s few toys and books into his Guardians of the Galaxies backpack, I dialed Jordan’s number.

  “Savannah?” He was talking loudly and I assumed he had me on speakerphone.

  “Yes!” My voice started to shake, and I swallowed hard. “I’ll be waiting for you at the main entrance to the park.” I didn’t want him near our campsite in case Marek saw us—I wasn’t going to call him until I was in the car and long gone.

  “I’m only ten minutes away,” Jordan said. “If you’re not there, I’ll come looking for you.”

  “No! Wait for me at the entrance, please. I’ll be there, I promise!” I hung up without even saying goodbye. I had to leave immediately. It was more than a ten-minute walk, and I’d be hindered by the weight of a sleeping kid and several bags. I didn’t want Marek to catch us either. For all I knew, he could be stumbling back to our camper at that very moment.

  I slung both linen totes over one shoulder, the backpack over the other, and staggered a little when I scooped up Killian. His forehead thumped p
ainfully into the bridge of my nose, making my eyes water and sting, but I didn’t slow down. I turned off all the lights inside and peeked out through the tiny window in the door to make sure Marek wasn’t out there. Seeing no sign of any movement, not even from other campers close by, I grabbed my patchwork shoulder bag on the way out, kicked the door closed behind me, and walked as quickly as I could away from the trailer, away from the Faire… away from Marek.

  Could it really be that easy?

  I prayed with everything in me that Killian would stay asleep, that Jordan would wait for me, that Marek would be passed out in Cassandra’s bed, and that I wouldn’t trip, fall, and break an ankle in the darkness.

  I prayed that my mother would still be alive when I got home.

  Home.

  The word sucked the air out of me, and I had to bite down on my lip to keep the sound back that wanted to tear loose.

  After almost three years, I was going home.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time I reached the park entrance, to my great relief, Jordan’s car was idling at the curb. I’d know that car anywhere and the sight of it made me want to weep. Jordan leapt out when he saw me, his phone in hand. He must have been trying to call me.

  My phone. My phone!

  I’d left my phone on the table. Marek would find it.

  “I don’t care,” I mumbled. My arms and shoulders burned, and I could barely catch my breath. With the added burden of the bags, Killian felt like he weighed a hundred pounds.

  Jordan barely said a word, his eyes dark with emotions I couldn’t read, but he popped open the trunk, then scooped Killian out of my arms so I could throw my bags into the car.

  “A car seat!” I exclaimed, a flood of despair washing over me. “Oh, Jordan, Killian needs a car seat!”

  He already had the back door of his car open and nodded his head toward the bulky child’s seat strapped in place. “Mom thought of that—she’s a grandma, remember? She strapped it in for me, but you’ll have to make sure Killian is in the right way.” He deposited my little boy in the car, and then stepped aside to let me finish up. We both clambered in ourselves, and we were off.

  It wasn’t until we were on the freeway that Jordan reached over and took my hand in his.

  I tried to be quiet—I didn’t want Killian to wake up to find me so upset again—but I couldn’t seem to stop the gasping sobs that pushed up out of my chest. No tears, just moans that bordered on dry heaves. I was terrified. Afraid of what I was running from. Afraid of what I was running to. Afraid of what I felt for the man I was running with. And I was desperately afraid for my mother.

  “She’s going to be okay,” Jordan murmured. He nodded toward the glove compartment. “There might be some napkins in there. Sorry I don’t have tissue.”

  The fact that he even thought of it finally made the tears come. Killian, thank God, did not stir. Whatever he’d done today had worn him out.

  When I could finally speak, I said, “Thank you, Jordan. For everything. I—I just don’t know how—” I broke off, at a loss for words that could adequately express what I was feeling. “Thank you,” I said again.

  I looked over at him. His eyes were trained on the road ahead of us, but he nodded. I could tell by the tension in his jaw that he was biting back a million and one questions, and I promised myself I would answer every single one of them. Soon. But not tonight.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” My voice snagged a little on the question.

  Jordan frowned slightly and cleared his throat before he spoke. “She had gone to the grocery store and was on her way home. I don’t know if you remember it, but there’s a four-way stop at the corner of Jurupa and Citrus. She was making a left turn, and for some reason, the other guy drove right through his stop without even slowing down. He broadsided her going at least thirty-five miles an hour. There was a couple sitting out on their porch who saw the whole thing happen. They called 911 immediately, so she got help right away.” He darted me a look, presumably to make sure I was all right with the details, and I nodded, silently urging him to continue. “Apparently, her head hit the driver’s side window hard enough to shatter the glass. Her right ankle has a slight sprain, but it’s not broken. She’ll be able to walk on it in a boot of some kind in a day or two. Her left wrist is fractured, so that will be in a cast for sure. But the most urgent concern is a cracked vertebra in her neck. The surgery she’s in is to try to fix that. I don’t know what that entails, but Mom said something about immobilizing her neck until everything heals. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific.”

  “It’s okay. What you’ve told me already is a lot to take in, so thank you.” I couldn’t even begin to imagine what my mom was enduring right now, but at least Jordan made it sound like the prognosis was hopeful. I had to stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. “What about the other driver? Was he—or she—okay?”

  Jordan frowned again, and I tensed, gripping his hand tightly. I knew what he was going to say before the words came. “An elderly man. He didn’t make it.”

  I suddenly felt lightheaded and my breathing became shallow. The taillights of the car in front of us glowed oddly, and I found I couldn’t focus on them. I clutched at the door, my fingers scrabbling for the old-school window lever. “I—I need some air,” I gasped.

  “Whoa. Hold up. Don’t accidentally open the door.” Jordan let go of my hand and wrapped his fingers around the back of my neck, pressing me forward ever so gently. “Head between your knees, Savannah. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

  I did as he instructed, and he waited while I tried to get myself together. After a minute or two, he asked, “Do you still want the window open? Or should I pull over?”

  I straightened slowly, relieved to find things coming back into focus. Rolling my window down a couple of inches, I pressed my face to the opening, letting the rushing night air cool my skin for a few minutes. Killian whimpered in the backseat, and when I turned to check on him, I could see the wind was blowing directly on him, so I rolled up the window again.

  “Here. Maybe this will help.” Jordan pointed an air conditioning vent toward me. I leaned in and closed my eyes for a few more minutes.

  “How’s my dad doing?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry—I didn’t think to ask Mom that. But Dad and Jeffries are with him.” Why did guys always call each other by their last names? “And Tish is there, too, of course. Because of those two, your folks and mine have become pretty close.” He flashed me a sad smile, and I knew he was probably thinking the same thing I was. At one time, it might have been the two of us that brought our parents together.

  “I’m glad,” I whispered, not sure what else to say.

  “Mom was going back right after I left. She’d stopped by your folks’ place to grab some things for your dad so he could stay the night at the hospital. Knowing her, she also used that time to call everyone on that prayer chain of hers.” Jordan chuckled. “I used to call it her gossip hotline. Gossip in the guise of prayer, you know?”

  I nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. The prayer chain at our church had been one of the key reasons I’d behaved so beatifically growing up. I knew how quickly word got around that thing, and I lived in morbid fear of the day it would be my name winging its way from phone to phone on its way to God’s ear. “If your mom’s prayer chain is anything like my mom’s, then believe me—a good fifty percent of those names on the list are there so they’ll get first dibs on the dirt.” I shrugged. “But the other half? I’ve seen things, Jordan. Those people know how to bend God’s ear.”

  Jordan smiled and nodded. We both fell silent again, the road flying by beneath us, the dark gathering close around us as we drove through the night.

  “It’s good to see you sitting in that seat again, Savannah Clark.” His words washed over me like a long-forgotten love song and I lowered my chin, wanting to hear more. Wanting to go back in time to when that song had first begun to
play between us. “I’m just sorry it has to be under these circumstances.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, too.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  My heart was in my throat by the time we pulled into the hospital parking lot. What would my father say when he saw me—saw us? What would he do? Had Mrs. Ransome even told him about Killian? Surely, she had. But then, what had she told Dad about him? What did she know about him?

  Jordan checked his phone while I unbuckled Killian, but when I reached in to scoop him up, Jordan stopped me. “I’ll carry him.”

  I stepped back and watched as he leaned in and hauled my son up against him in an easy, practiced motion, talking quietly the whole time. “I got you, buddy. It’s okay.” His voice was gentle, soothing, and I thought how nice it would be to lay my own head on Jordan’s shoulder and have him whisper soothing words in my ear. I felt my cheeks grow warm and turned away a little, even though I knew he couldn’t see my color rise in the dark. Jordan straightened, situated Killian more comfortably, and then pointed his chin toward the double glass doors that led into the lobby. “After you,” he said, ever the gentleman.

  I checked the car to make sure it was locked, and then headed inside beside him. My palms were damp from nervousness, and I wiped them on my skirt as I squirmed impatiently at the information desk while Jordan asked directions to the surgery floor. The wait at the elevator was excruciatingly long, but the ride up to the third floor didn’t take nearly long enough. I stepped out into the framed, lithograph-lined hallway and faltered.

  Three years.

  Three years.

  Jordan reached for my hand. Turning me to face him, he looked me in the eye. “Savannah, they want to see you. They want you here. Both of you.”