A Long Way Home

by Becky Doughty

  “He claims you called him, and now he knows where you live.” Jordan spoke again, his words careful.

  “But I used the Caller ID block,” I said, shaking my head. Oh God, does he really know where I am?

  “His message said otherwise. It must not have worked.”

  “No.” I shook my head, replaying the phone calls I’d made today. “No. I was very careful. It worked. He’s bluffing.” I held out my hand for Jordan’s phone; my fingers trembled like one of the leaves on my sycamore. “May I see the message?”

  He shook his head, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve already told you what he said. You don’t need to hear exactly how he said it.”

  I lowered my hand. Sebastian and Tish sat down again.

  “I think you might be right, Savannah,” Sebastian began. “He sounds like he’s bluffing to me, to be honest. I mean, if he knew, he wouldn’t bother leaving threatening messages. He’d just show up.” The thought made me very aware of the extra serving of chow mein I’d eaten. “However, we need to act as though he means it. We need to talk about what to do if he shows up here.”

  “I—I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around my middle and curling in on myself, suddenly aching to feel Killian’s little body pressed against me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  We didn’t make any long-term plans at the table that night, but we did figure out everyone’s schedules so Killian and I would never be anywhere alone, at least until we could come up with a more solid plan.

  Tuesday morning, Dad called to check on me. “Your mother did much better last night, and she’s hoping you’ll come in today. She’s also very anxious to meet Killian, Savannah. Of course, she was surprised, and she even cried a little, but she’s chomping at the bit to get out of here now. She wants to get home to you both as soon as she can.” He chuckled, and the sound of it was the music of home to my ears. “She doesn’t want her first time meeting her grandson to be in a hospital bed. Her doctor is pleased to see her so motivated.”

  My relief surprised me—I’d thought I was more worried about my father’s reaction to Killian than my mother’s—and I had to swipe away the tears that overflowed while I talked to him. I didn’t want him to know I was crying. They were happy tears, and I didn’t want him to worry for no reason.

  “Jordan is going to bring me in today so you don’t have to come pick me up.” I told him about Stella keeping Killian. “And Tish is picking me up when she gets out of classes this afternoon. You just worry about being there for Mom, and I’ll figure out how to get there and back as often as I can.”

  I got off the phone and had just turned away when it rang again. “Did you forget something?” I asked into the handset, smiling as memories about my father, deep in thought about some Bible passage or sermon he was preparing, forgetting things like where he’d left his glasses—usually on his head—or his coffee cup—sometimes in his hand.

  The other end of the line remained quiet. Had he redialed by accident?

  “Dad?” I pulled the cordless phone away from my ear and looked at the little digital screen. It still showed the call time running. From an Unknown Caller.

  Marek. Terrified beyond measure, I threw the phone away from me. It skittered across the counter and crashed to the floor. A clear plastic piece flew off and bounced against a cabinet door.

  At that moment, Jordan pulled open the front screen door and called out, “You two ready to go?”

  He found me rooted to the spot, staring at the handset a few feet away. “Savannah? What happened? Where’s Killian?” With each question, his voice tightened with alarm.

  “Wi—with Sebastian. In the backyard playing with Pete.”

  “Did he call here?” Jordan asked quietly as he bent over and retrieved the phone off the floor. He snapped the screen cover that had popped off back into place, held the phone to his ear, and shook his head. “No one’s there.” But he pushed the End Call button several times before placing it in the dock on the counter.

  He turned back to me. Something in my expression, or the bloodless tone of my skin, made him reach for me. “Come here,” he muttered, pulling me to him. My knees buckled a little. “Whoa,” he said, adjusting his footing to keep us both upright. He backed up a few steps, drawing me with him, and leaned against the counter for support. “Breathe, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  We were still standing that way when Sebastian swept into the kitchen with Killian riding piggyback. Pete pranced along behind them, his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth. Sebastian pulled up short when he saw us, and then veered off toward the living room. “We’ll meet you at the Ransome’s,” he called back over his shoulder, and the three of them swept out the front door together, Killian whooping like a giddy cowboy.

  I took one last fortifying breath and stepped back, but Jordan kept his hands on my waist, preventing me from putting more distance between us. “I need to get Killian’s bag.” I felt completely disarmed at that moment, wanting his comfort way too much, but knowing I needed to learn to stand on my own two feet just as badly.

  “You going to be okay?”

  I nodded, and he chuckled. “There you go again, nodding your head. You can tell me the truth, you know.”

  I wanted to dive back into his embrace and say, Now that you’re here, yes, yes, yes! But I shrugged one shoulder and tried to smile, my lips feeling a little rubbery. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’m scared, Jordan. I know that was him. He called here and I answered, thinking it was my dad. And now he knows for sure I’m here.”

  “Don’t answer the phone anymore.”

  “I won’t, but it’s a day late and a dollar short, isn’t it? And aren’t you making light of this whole thing? Just last night you and your posse were trying to stage an intervention. Well? It’s happening, Jordan. That was him!” I put my hands on his chest and tried to push away, but he held on. In frustration, I pushed harder. “Let me go, Jordan. I can’t think straight when you’re standing so close.”

  Jordan grinned, tipping his head in a cocky gesture. “Really?”

  I closed my eyes in embarrassment, wishing I could take back the words. “Please.” I pushed again, suddenly remembering something. “Or I’ll tickle you.”

  “Really?” he asked again, drawing me closer, spreading his feet a little wider so I was standing between his legs. “And do you remember what happened the last time you tickled me?”

  “You screamed like a little girl?” But I did remember. We were lying on a blanket in the backyard, his fingers laced behind his head, our bodies close, but not touching, because July nights in Southern California rarely dipped below seventy degrees before midnight, and it was too hot to press up against each other without sticking. We were trying to count the stars in the night sky and making up silly names for each one. When he pointed at Orion’s Belt and dubbed the middle star Savannah Banana, I reached over and tickled his rib cage. He did scream like a little girl.

  And after he screamed like a little girl, he rolled over and pinned me to the ground, bracing my hands on either side of my head. And then he kissed me. Sweetly at first, tiny soft nibbles at the corners of my mouth that made my breath come quick and shallow, and then harder, his lips molding to mine, moving slowly, methodically, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth with his. He lowered himself to his elbows, and I sighed as the length of his body pressed against mine. I started to tug my hands free so I could wrap my arms around him, but he held tight, lifting his head enough so he could look at my face.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered, his breath warm on my cheek. “Please… just let me capture this moment in my heart, so I can take it back to school with me when I go.” I stilled, letting him look at me in the glow of the porchlight from across the yard, shy, but reveling in his admiration. “You are so beautiful to me, Savannah Clark.” He lowered his head and kissed me again, deeply, urgently. Then he rolled away, h
is chest rising and falling like the ebb and flow of the ocean.

  “I love you, Jordan,” I whispered in reply, a shy seventeen-year-old girl emboldened by what I’d seen in his eyes when he looked at me.

  He reached over and laced his fingers with mine. “Sweet Savannah,” he murmured, a smile spreading across his features. “You are all that is home to me. The center of my universe.” He pointed at the star he’d named for me, the middle one in the row of three that made up the heavenly hunter’s belt. “Whenever I’m missing you, I only have to look up to find my way home again.” It mattered little that he hadn’t said the words I love you back to me that night; I’d read between the lines and heard them anyway.

  “I remember,” I said softly now, my head down.

  “Best night ever,” Jordan replied, his voice just as soft. I nodded, knowing he wouldn’t reprimand me for doing so in this instance. “Your star got me through some pretty dark nights, Savannah Banana.”

  “I’m glad.” I hated to change the subject, but I knew he had to get to work. I also didn’t want Killian to think I’d let him go without saying goodbye. “But Jordan, at some point, you know I’m going to have to deal with him. He’s Killian’s—”

  “Father. Yes, I know. Will you do something for me?” He wiggled my hips a little, not suggestively, but more like he wanted to shake me. “Will you please stop reminding me of that? I know Marek is Killian’s father, okay? It doesn’t change the fact that he’s also a monster. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I couldn’t argue with any of what he said, and I had to admit, it did sound a little like I was waving it around like a flag.

  “Thank you.” He paused, and then one side of his mouth started to hitch, a hint of humor in his eyes. “So will you make me one more?” There was a hint of humor in his eyes now.

  I stepped back. This time, he let me go. He crossed his arms and locked eyes with me.

  “One more deal?” I asked, wary and flustered. I resisted the urge to hide behind something.

  “If I let you tickle me again, will you let me kiss you under the stars again?”

  I turned and hurried from the room, my face warm and flushed with something like happiness. I’d almost forgotten about Marek’s call.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  I promised Stella I’d pick up more diapers on my way home from the hospital, hoping Tish would be okay with stopping by the store. I had $38 to my name, money I’d stashed away a dollar at a time. It had taken almost a year to collect that much—Marek kept track of every penny that came through our tip baskets, but these dollars had come from services I’d provided off stage, like stitching up a torn bodice, babysitting an hour here or there, and covering a booth for a vendor every now and then. Marek had given me a ten-dollar-a-week diaper budget, but Killian went through that in about five days, so I spent a lot of my side earnings to make up the difference. Another good reason to potty train him, I knew.

  “LB is starting to use the big-boy potty, so if you’d like, I can have Killian join us when we try,” Stella had offered. I’d balked for a moment, ever subconsciously wary about predators and sexual offenders, and then almost laughed at my hyped-up protective instincts. I was going to leave my child with this woman all day, have her change his diapers every couple of hours, but I didn’t trust her enough to have her initiate his potty training? What was wrong with me? Sometimes, I was sure I was going crazy.

  “That would be awesome, Stella.”

  “Well, let me tell you, boys tend to catch on much quicker when they’re competing or measuring up. By the time Jordan came along, he had to catch up to three boys before him. His older brothers broke him in—I was completely hands off with him.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Nice visual, there,” Jordan said from behind me. I loved the way this family treated each other. Teasing and ribbing, but smoothing all the rough edges over with affection and loyalty.

  The ride to the hospital wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it would be after I ran from the kitchen and Jordan’s proposition. He turned on the radio and sang along with the music in a slightly off-key voice. He tried to get me to join in, but I shook my head. I felt an odd sense of detachment without Killian; the only time I spent apart from him was during my performances, and even then, half the time, I could see him running around at the back of the crowd with Pella in tow. The thought of him being a car’s drive away made my palms damp, and I kept rubbing my hands down my thighs.

  “You all right?” Jordan finally asked. “You worried about that phone call?”

  “A little,” I said. “And I’m not used to going anywhere without Killian.”

  “He’ll be fine with Mom. You know that, right?”

  I nodded, but before he could call me on it, I added, “I know that. He’ll be fine without me, but I don’t know how fine I’ll be without him.”

  Jordan reached over and covered my hand where it rested on my lap. “You’ve got some catching up to do with your folks today. The time will fly by. Tish will come too soon, you’ll see.” He glanced over at me, and I smiled in agreement. He was probably right. “And the phone call? It might not have been him, you know. Your dad had just called and maybe he butt-dialed you by mistake.”

  “He called from my mom’s room phone. No cell phones allowed up there…” I let the words trail off.

  “Whoever it was didn’t say anything, right? Does that sound like something Marek would do? Call to talk to you and then say nothing at all?”

  “Actually, I don’t really know. That’s what makes Marek… well, scary. He’s unpredictable. He purposely keeps me guessing. Half the time, I’m in trouble with him because I can’t figure out what he wants or what he’s going to do next, and even if I guess right, he’ll change directions just to mess with my head. So yeah, it makes perfect sense that it was him.” I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. I never talked bad about Marek to anyone—he’d always warned me that he wouldn’t put up with me disrespecting him, that he had eyes and ears everywhere. “It was him, Jordan. We rarely perform on Mondays, so he’s got nothing better to do than torment me today. At least, that’s been his MO for the last year or so.” I let out a derisive snort. “He’s been pretty predictable about that, come to think of it.”

  Jordan didn’t respond. When I looked over at him, his eyes were narrowed and his mouth drawn in a hard line. “I don’t want you answering that phone, Savannah. No matter what, okay? For now, as long as you’re not home alone, you’ll be safe. But we need to make some decisions about what you’re going to do soon, okay? Maybe even tonight? And that means you need to talk to your parents—or at least your dad—today while you’re there. He deserves to know what’s going on.”

  “I know.” The thought of telling my parents everything still made me feel like a band was tightening around my throat—I didn’t know if I would be able to bear the hurt and disappointment in their eyes—but after the reception I’d had from them, from everyone, I knew I could do it.

  “Do you want me to come by the hospital when I get off and talk to him with you? I won’t be finished today until four, so it would mean an extra hour for you, but you know I’ll be there.”

  I knew part of his reason for asking was because he wanted to know the whole story, too, but I wasn’t planning on telling Dad everything until Mom was well enough to come home. Then I’d sit down with both of them and tell them everything. Today, I would just fill them in on the kind of person Marek was and my decision—or at least my growing determination—to get away from him. I seriously didn’t know how to legally keep Killian away from him, but now that I had a growing team of support, I was beginning to feel hopeful that there might be a way to at least limit the contact. Although, I couldn’t imagine Marek wanting Killian without me. In fact, I was pretty sure the only reason he claimed Killian was because he could use him to control me.

  I knew Dad, being a pastor, had walked people through some crazy things in their lives. Jordan wa
s right. He might have some connections that would be helpful for us. “It’s all right. I’m going to try to get it out of the way early. I feel like the sooner I do, the better we’ll all know how to proceed from here.”

  After a brief pause, Jordan offered, “I can call off today if you want me with you.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll be fine. I—I really do need to talk to my parents alone.” I turned my hand over and wrapped my fingers around his, not caring if he noticed my sweaty palms. “But I’ll call you after I do so you won’t be worried, okay? And maybe we can talk tonight.” I sighed, a little sad. “I wish my fairy boat was still hanging in the sycamore. I wonder what happened to it. We had some good talks in that thing, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah, we did.” His voice was tender, remembering.

  Jordan insisted on walking me all the way to my mother’s room. I was sure he was late already, but he would have it no other way. “Besides, I haven’t had a chance to see your mom yet.”

  Mom looked better rested today, and she gave Jordan a lopsided smile. “Wow, Mrs. Clark. That thing is wicked. Have they let you see yourself yet?”

  “They let me,” she croaked, “but I don’t want to look. I’ve seen your faces when you come visit, and I know it must be awful.”

  Dad laughed. “Tish stopped by on her way to class about an hour ago, and she called Beatrice steampunk. I had to look it up to see what it meant.”

  “Means you’re really hip, Mom.” I chuckled, grateful to see her so much more responsive and alert today.

  Jordan left shortly, stopping at the door to make me promise I’d call him if I needed anything. “All you have to do is call, and I’ll come running…” he crooned off key as he walked away, making me giggle.

  I returned to the bedside and sat down, resting my hand on Mom’s thigh. Dad reached over and covered my hand with his. Without any attempt at a segue, I whispered, “I don’t even have a picture to show you, Mom. They were all in my phone, and I left it—” My voice broke, and I started to cry, bowing my head in grief, both over the loss of the years with my family, and now the realization that I had no pictures of Killian from that time, either. Nothing to show them—or him one day—of how cute, fat, and dimply he was as a baby. Legally, the phone belonged to Marek, and I was sure I wouldn’t be getting it back. I’d never backed it up or sent those pictures to anyone else. All those photograph memories were gone.