A Long Way Home

by Becky Doughty

  At fifteen minutes after six, there was a knock on the door. Pete let out a bark of greeting and bounced along behind me as I hurried to open it, pausing last minute to use the peephole. Jordan. Pulling open the door, I stepped back and invited him in.

  “Hey,” he said to me, and then crossed the room and dropped down on the couch behind Killian. Hey? That was it? I pushed the door closed. When I turned back around, I grinned at the sight of him leaning forward to peer over Killian’s shoulder, a perplexed look on his face.

  “This is the first house he’s ever decorated himself,” I explained. Killian had put all the important furniture in the kitchen—the table, the bed, the television, and the toilet. The rest of the house was just a mish-mosh of whatever pieces there were left.

  “His bohemian is showing.” Jordan chuckled, pointing at the dolls who were all gathered around a fire pit outside the house, lounging in chairs and lying on blankets. There was even a pup tent set up with two children inside, one blond like Killian, the other dark like Marissa, his girlfriend from the Italian guild.

  I smiled tentatively, hoping he thought that was a good thing. Jordan leaned forward again and stroked the back of my son’s neck in a gesture so tender that my knees went weak. “Hey, Killer. How ya doing?”

  The door opened again. This time, Tish and Sebastian swept in, arms laden with cartons of Chinese food. Pete pretty much had a panic attack out of sheer joy, but he calmed down as soon as Sebastian set the food he carried on the table and acknowledged him with a head scratch.

  “Dinner is served,” Tish declared. Killian was instantly animated, his eyes wide with adoration as he beamed up at Sebastian. His mouth was moving before the words even started. Tish snorted at Sebastian’s side. “He really thinks you’re something, doesn’t he?”

  “Him and Pete, both,” Sebastian agreed. He smiled down at Killian, who leapt to his feet and hurried over to grab the guy’s hand. He dragged him back to the dollhouse, pulled him down to the floor beside Jordan, and then squeezed himself in between them.

  Tish chuckled and dipped her head at the three boys playing with the dolls. “Polaroid moment if I ever saw one.” As she sorted through the bags of food they’d brought in, she said, “So Savannah, my mom wants to know about tomorrow. You want to bring Killer over and see how he does? I know Gina and LB would love to see him. Gina wouldn’t stop talking about ‘that darling baby boy’ last night on the phone.”

  I could picture the little drama queen referring to Killian that way. It made me smile. He definitely felt better this afternoon, especially after his nap. He’d had no fever since, and he wasn’t complaining about his ‘teef’ at all. “Are you sure she doesn’t mind having him? I’d really like to get in to see Mom tomorrow, but I don’t want to be a burden.”

  Tish shook her head before I even finished talking, but she kept busy, not bothering to look at me as she spoke. “Stop. Mom wouldn’t have offered if she didn’t want to. Believe me, she spent some time sizing him up yesterday while you were at our place.” She set a paper plate and plastic fork at each place around the table, and then headed into the kitchen for some water glasses. “I can assure you, Killer has her wrapped around his little finger.”

  “Well, then, yes. I’d really appreciate that. I talked to Dad this afternoon and he said Mom had a much better day, so I’d really like a chance to go see her. Tell your mom thank you for me.”

  “You can thank her yourself in the morning.” Her words were pleasant enough, but I sensed there was something she wasn’t saying. She and Jordan both seemed a little brusque tonight, and I felt an undercurrent of worry in my belly.

  We were hungry and ate industriously, passing white cartons around, mocking each other’s dismal attempts to eat rice with chopsticks, and eating far more than was good for any of us. The conversation wasn’t exactly stilted, but I knew something was going on that I wasn’t in on, so I kept my focus on Killian, who loved chow mein almost as much as he did macaroni and cheese. But when he started throwing noodles at Pete, I knew he was done.

  “Bath time, wild child,” I murmured, scooping up our trash.

  “Leave it,” Jordan said. “We got this. You go do your thing.”

  Killian loved the bathtub. It was another benefit of living with a foundation beneath you—real indoor plumbing. With hot water, no less. And bubbles, thanks to Mom never throwing anything away. I’d found a whole collection of half-used fruit-flavored bath gels and body washes from my high school days. Killian didn’t care how they smelled. All that mattered were the bubbles. The more, the better.

  I took as long as I could, even going so far as to blow-dry Killian’s hair, but when he was all fluffed, powdered, and ready to climb in bed with a story, I took him downstairs to say goodnight to everyone. They were still sitting around the table, the empty food cartons and used napkins just pushed to the middle, out of the way. I’d been gone almost an hour, and they hadn’t moved. Something was up for sure.

  I read Killian a book about barnyard animals with silly pictures and sillier rhymes, rubbing his back until he drifted off. When I finally went back downstairs again, the table was cleared, the few leftovers packaged up and put away, and I smelled fresh-brewed coffee in the air. The three of them sat at the table, waiting for me. And I chickened out.

  “Guys, I’m really tired, and I have to get up early to go to the hospital with Dad tomorrow, so I think I’m going to call it a night.” I stood in the doorway, letting my gaze drift around the small circle, not holding anyone’s eyes for more than a moment at a time. “But thank you so much for dinner. What do I owe you?” I looked at Tish, hoping she’d say I owed her nothing, because I needed what little cash I had to buy diapers in the next day or two.

  “Nope, it was on Dad tonight,” Tish said. “Come join us.” It wasn’t a command, even though it wasn’t a request, either.

  Regardless, I felt like I was being compelled to obey, almost manipulated into being polite. First, they fed me, then they waited patiently for me to tuck my son into bed, and then they chewed on my bones for dessert. I crossed my arms and frowned, but stood my ground, fighting off the fear that usually accompanied me being non-compliant in any way, real or perceived. “What’s going on? I really am tired. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  “Please, Savannah,” Jordan spoke, his eyes dark with concern.

  But it was when Sebastian spoke that I capitulated. “It really shouldn’t wait, Savannah.” Something about the way he reached over and put a hand on Jordan’s shoulder moved me unexpectedly, so I came forward and eased into my chair. A faint ringing in my ears made me want to cover them with both hands, but that would just make me look childish. Besides, I knew what it was. I heard it every time I gave in to Marek’s demands; it was like my body’s own fire alarm.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Tish spoke first. “I know this is going to feel like you’re being picked on, but please understand that we’re really scared for you, Savannah.” I could almost feel their teeth noshing on my bones.

  “You don’t have to be. I’m fine.” My automatic response popped out like a cuckoo-clock bird. Cuckoo! Cuckoo! I’m fine! I’m fine! It sounded just as silly, too. I wasn’t fooling anyone here; I could see it in their eyes. But they didn’t know how important it was for me to convince them—everyone—that I really was fine.

  No one spoke for a few moments. Tish got up and brought me a mug. “Coffee?”

  Clearly, we were in this for the long haul. Coffee didn’t usually keep me up at nights, but it did tend to heighten any agitation I felt, so I shook my head. “I’ll just get some water.” I rose and filled my mug at the kitchen sink, finding it a little disconcerting that Tish, a girl I’d barely known before I left, and Sebastian, who was a stranger up until only a few days ago, were as comfortable around my old kitchen as I’d ever been. I drank half the mug at the sink and refilled it before returning to the table.

  “We’re not buying it,” Tish said after I sat down again.
“This guy, Marek. He’s not a good guy.”

  “I’m fine. Really, I am,” I said again, trying to keep my voice from shaking as shame, anger, and fear broiled together in my belly. “Marek’s under a lot of pressure to keep our troupe working. Sometimes, his temper just gets the better of him.” I heard his ugly words from the short phone call earlier today buzzing around in my head. “I know part of the problem is me. I’m not the same as I was before Killian was born. I’m not as available to him, and that’s been a big adjustment for him, you know? He’s got a lot on his shoulders. He needs me to be there for him, but I haven’t been lately.” Even to my own ears, it all sounded like stupid excuses. “Because I’m taking care of Killian,” I added. “I’ve changed. A lot.”

  “But isn’t Killian his son, too?” Tish asked. “Shouldn’t he change now, too, since he has a son in his life?”

  I knew the right answer to that question, but I also knew the real answer to that question, at least in my world. Marek didn’t change for anyone. Ever. I stayed quiet, staring down into my mug.

  “My dad killed my mother,” Sebastian began, his words abrupt. I twitched in surprise, sloshing my water over my hands. Tish tossed me a stack of the paper napkins that had come with the meal. She placed her other hand on Sebastian’s forearm, her black-nailed fingers moving along the ridged muscles in a soothing motion. I wondered how often he told his story, if it might not come easy to him. “He pushed her down a set of concrete stairs, and then he blamed it on me. I was five when it happened.” He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, but he continued. “He told the police I’d gone running to greet her when she came up the stairs, and that she’d lost her balance and fallen backward to her death. He told me the story over and over and over again, until I saw it happen exactly that way in my memory. He literally changed my memory, Savannah.”

  I hated the pain I heard in his voice, and honestly, I didn’t want to hear any more of his story. Not because I was coldhearted, but because it scared me in a way I couldn’t put into words. The ringing in my ears grew more urgent and I grabbed my mug, pressing it to the table to try to steady my shaking hands.

  “I lived with the knowledge—because I knew it to be true, even though it wasn’t—the guilt, the grief over the fact that I’d killed my mother. Unintentionally, yes, but I’d still killed her. And Dad used that against me my whole life. Every time he drank too much, or lost a job—it was my fault. Every time he got in trouble with the law—or got in trouble on the street, which was way more often—it was my fault, because he missed Mom and I’d taken her from him. Every time we moved, it was my fault, too, because he’d heard—” he made air-quotes around the word, “—that someone had found out about what I’d done and they were coming to take me to prison.”

  He cleared his throat, and Tish refilled his coffee. I didn’t know what to say, so I stared down into my water and thought about my sycamore tree out front and how much Killian had enjoyed clambering up into its branches with me today.

  “Every time he got too rough with me, it was my fault, too,” Sebastian began again. “Except he didn’t have to blame me for it. That was my own truth. I’d convinced myself that because I had killed my mother, I deserved any hurt my father put on me. And because I’d robbed him of his wife, I owed it to him to cover for him, to pay his debts, to clean up after him, and to stand by him.”

  Tish’s expression spoke volumes about how she felt about Sebastian’s dad. I had no desire to be Mr. Jeffries if he ever had to come face to face with Tish Ransome.

  “The only problem was, the more I covered for him and the more I cleaned up after him, the more trouble he got into.” He shook his head, his hair falling forward over his left eye where I’d noticed a scar, the kind boxers get below their eyebrows. “And the more he took out his frustrations on me.”

  He fell silent, and Tish picked up the story. “When Sebastian finally decided he’d had enough and tried to leave, his dad held him hostage at gunpoint and threatened to kill him. But his hands were tied, see? If he killed him, his cover would be gone. But if he left him alive, Sebastian would go to the authorities. So he spent the night taking out his frustration on his own son…” Her words drifted away as she swallowed hard, obviously still greatly disturbed by what had happened between the man she loved and his father.

  Sebastian took Tish’s hand in both of his, but he kept his focus on me. “The details don’t matter, but the end result is that my father is in prison, possibly for life. I’m learning to forgive him, and to forgive myself for the part I contributed to his depravity, but it doesn’t change what he did to my mom, to me, and to the many others he left destroyed or dead in his wake.” He leaned forward then, the light over our heads highlighting his remarkable aquamarine eyes. “The thing is, Savannah, he didn’t start out nearly as bad as he ended up. I have these snapshot memories now—so many have come back to me over the last year—of us sitting together on our couch watching my mom’s favorite old-school movies, of him and Mom dancing in the kitchen together, of his face looking over Mom’s shoulder at me while she tucked me in. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he was ever a really nice guy, and I don’t think my mom could have saved him from becoming what he did. The potential was always there. But the point is that he didn’t start out as a killer. He became one as the need arose… and as he got away with more and more.”

  I nodded, understanding the whole progression thing. I could say the same about Marek. He’d been kind to me when I’d first come to him. And there were times—many times—even now, when he was still kind to me, reminding me of how things had once been, and of how they could be again, if I could only figure out how to fix them. Suddenly, it occurred to me what Sebastian was getting at. “Wait a minute. Marek isn’t like your dad, Sebastian. He’s never laid a hand on Killian in anger, not even once. Sometimes, he gets a little rough with me, but it’s only when I don’t listen, or when I don’t do what he wants. But he’d never—”

  “Wait. What? When you don’t do what he wants? When you don’t listen? Do you hear yourself, Savannah? You make it sound like he’s your father. And a legalistic disciplinarian monster of a father at that.”

  “Tish.” Sebastian didn’t look at her, but his voice was soothing.

  “No, Sebastian. No. I’m not going to stand by and watch this happen again.” She pulled her hand from his and stood from the table, her chair ratcheting across the floor a couple inches. I flinched instinctively, even though my head told me she wasn’t going to hurt me.

  “My dad didn’t lay a hand on me, either, you know.”

  I jerked my gaze to Sebastian, confused. “I thought you said…” Hadn’t he just finished saying the opposite was true?

  His next statement set me straight in a sobering way. “Not until my mom was no longer there to protect me.”

  The room fell silent. Even the ringing in my ears stopped.

  “Savannah, you’ve got to get out for good. Go to the police. He can’t hurt you—threaten you—and get away with it.” Tish stopped behind Sebastian’s chair and clutched at his shoulders, her eyes boring into mine. “You have to turn him in before this goes too far, not when it’s too late.”

  “No! No,” I declared, panic surging up in me. “I’ve got it under control, you guys.” Even I knew it wasn’t true, but I said it anyway. I took a big gulp of water and repeated, “I’ll be fine. Really. We’ll be fine.”

  Jordan straightened in his seat and took a deep breath. He hadn’t said anything yet, and I turned pleading eyes on him, hoping he’d back me up. “Not according to the texts and voice messages I’ve been getting for the last two days.” The edge in Jordan’s voice took me by surprise. “That man is an animal, and even worse, he makes you sound like an animal, too. Like chattel. Like he owns you.”

  “He’s just mad because I left the way I did,” I reciprocated, my voice rising in indignation. “Wouldn’t you be upset if your—your girlfriend—or wife—” Neither of which I was t
o Marek. I stuttered to a stop and started again. “Wouldn’t you be upset if your girlfriend took off in the middle of the night with some guy you’d never met before? Without telling you, no less?”

  As soon as the words were out, I snapped my mouth shut and begged God to let me take them back. Isn’t that exactly what had happened to Jordan three years ago? Or at least, that was probably what he thought happened, if he had done the math and counted back to when Killian must have been conceived.

  “Yes,” he replied, his words low and unsteady. “But I didn’t promise to hunt her and her child down—by the way, his terms for you two have been far less complimentary—and kill her. Nor did I ignore her calls when she did try to contact me. Nor did I threaten her, ever, in any way, shape, or form, when I thought she didn’t listen to me or do exactly what I wanted her to do. Nor did I blame her for ruining my life by getting pregnant—again, my word for it, not his. Nor did I grab her so hard I left bruises whenever I felt threatened by someone else in her life. In fact, I never felt threatened by anyone else in her life because I trusted her, fool that I was. Nor did I—”

  “Jordan.” Sebastian spoke again, this time to the desired effect. Jordan closed his mouth, the muscles of his jaw bunching hard.

  “He never threatened to hunt me down and kill me.” I grabbed on to the one thing in that tirade I knew wasn’t true.

  “Yes, he did! He has,” Tish declared. She pointed at Jordan. “In so many words, he has done just that. Show her your phone, Jordan.”

  “Tish.” Sebastian stood up and put his hands on her shoulders, making her turn to face him. “Please, baby. Let’s just stay calm, okay? We can’t get anything done if we let our emotions take over.”

  Tish hesitated for several moments, and then leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. Sebastian’s arms wrapped around her in a tender gesture that made my eyes sting with unshed tears.