“Mama, are you sad?” His words came out so clear, I almost laughed. And then I did. I looked down at his bright chubby cheeks and stick-straight blond hair, and laughed. My son. No matter what the results of the DNA test, I’d get to keep him. If the results came back that he wasn’t the father, he technically had no rights to lose, and good riddance, no matter what course of legal action we took from that point. If the results came back positive, I would go after him on grounds of negligence, child endangerment, and various other child-protective-services related accusations. Technically, he could turn those same accusations against me, but I was confident he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with a court hearing. I knew he had no love or affection for Killian—this was all about controlling me. And I was done being controlled by Marek, the Gypsy King.
No more, I thought to myself. I’m home. I’m free. No more.
“No, baby. I’m happy. Come here.” He scrambled to his feet and lurched toward me, knocking my almost empty glass of water over before he threw his arms around my neck and pressed his cheek to mine. I let the spilled water soak into the towel. That was what it was there for, right?
A loud crash from another part of the house made me jump, but I tried to cover my surprise so Killian wouldn’t worry. Voices rose and fell with increasing volume, and I began to worry. I set Killian aside and told him we needed to clean up the spill while we sang a funny song. He burst into a full-voiced rendition of Skinnamarinkydinkydoo, and I giggled as he stumbled over the silly term.
By the time we had our dishes picked up and stacked on a tray near the desk, the water sopped up, and the towel hanging from a hook on the back of the door, it was quiet out there. I hoped they hadn’t been arguing about me, but I had a feeling I’d be the topic of conversation around this house for a while.
The plan was for me to stay at the Ransome house while we took care of the DNA test, just to err on the side of precaution in case Marek changed his mind and came back for me early. Because I had bruises from my encounter with him today, and because, thanks to Stella’s quick thinking, we had a recording of what Jim’s attorney friend said could easily qualify as coercion, the lawyer was pushing through a temporary restraining order against Marek that would prevent him from coming within fifty miles of me. It would take another couple of weeks before I could get to court for a long-term restraining order, but the results of the DNA test would play a major determining factor in how we would proceed from there. A sheriff would serve Marek the papers tomorrow afternoon once the order had been filed in court. I knew the troupe’s next gig was somewhere in Nevada, and if they were going to get to the event in time to setup and shuffle dancers to fill my shoes, they’d have to pack up and leave town within a day or two following the closure of the Southern California Renaissance Faire. Which meant Marek would be gone from our lives in less than a week. Maybe not permanently, but spring was a busy time for those who did the historical reenactment circuits. It would be months before they returned to California, and even then, it would be up north. Regardless, a restraining order would make me sleep better at night, no matter which bed I slept in.
Jim had promised to walk me over to my place to pack stuff up for Killian and me. I didn’t think Marek would be stupid enough to loiter on our street, especially now that I knew what he was driving and could recognize it anywhere. But I felt safer knowing Jim would be with me. I had just turned on the small television in the bedroom to a SpongeBob rerun when a gentle knock sounded and I pulled the door open, expecting to see Jim in the hallway.
It was Jordan. His eyes were red-rimmed and his expression grim. I stepped back instinctively, but he didn’t move.
“Are—are you okay?” I asked, lowering my eyes. I had no clue what he knew or didn’t know, but I prepared myself for the worst.
“My mom sent me to my room a few minutes ago,” he began.
I almost laughed. The statement itself seemed silly, inconsequential, especially in light of the events of my day, and I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. I tried to anyway. “Yes, well, she sent Killian and me to Eric’s room.”
“She also told me I was not—under any circumstances—allowed to bother you. However, in open defiance of her ridiculous orders, at risk of life and limb and home-cooked meals for the rest of my life, I’m here because I have something to say. Something that can’t wait. I’ve waited too long as it is. Again.” He stood with his feet braced apart, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking like a miserable little boy. “It seems I’m always waiting too long when it comes to you, Savannah Clark.”
“Do you… want to come in?”
“No. That’s okay. I’m already regretting the possibility of losing the home-cooked meals if Mom catches me talking to you, but at least if I’m out here, I can run. I set foot in there and she happens by? I may get kicked out altogether and be forced to grow up and stop mooching off my parents.” He reached up and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “Geez. I’ve become the creepy old uncle who still lives at home with Mommy.”
“You’re not old,” I said, uncertain how to respond to his rant. “Creepy, maybe, but not old.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I feel much better already.” I could tell he was smiling, but I still couldn’t bring myself to look at him straight on. It got quiet except for the sound of SpongeBob’s psycho laughter coming from the TV behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Killian sitting cross-legged on the floor, completely still for once, his mouth lolling open, his eyes glazing over in wonder, completely enchanted by the oddest collection of under-the-sea friends on television. I wondered how Groot would feel about a sponge competing for my boy’s love. I turned back to Jordan and waited for him to explain his visit.
“Listen, Savannah. I know today has been something like the outer reaches of hell for you.” He must have sensed the panic that rose up in me. What had Jim and Stella told him? “Don’t worry, my parents are staying pretty mum about everything. They’re sold on the notion that it’s up to you to tell me what you want me to know. I didn’t—I didn’t agree with them, and neither did Tish, for that matter, and things got a little crazy out there. I think my mom threw a chair.”
I gaped up at him, unable to picture what he was describing. He laughed outright at my expression, but I caught the slight note of hysteria in it. “Just kidding. I got angry and shoved my chair back too hard. It fell over, and I got sent to my room until I could get a grip.” He shrugged self-deprecatingly. “But, Savannah, I know it started with that phone call this morning and just went downhill from there.” He scrubbed his hand over the top of his head, and then rested it at the back of his neck. The short sleeve of his shirt hiked up a little with the motion, and of their own accord, my eyes traced the pattern of blue veins that crisscrossed his rounded bicep just beneath the pale skin of the underside of his arm.
Everything about him seemed vulnerable to me tonight. Weren’t we a pair?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to—to protect you from whatever happened. I know you had to face him alone today, and I hate myself for not being there for you. For not being there for you all this time. I wish—I wish I’d just taken the day off and stayed with you today.” I closed my eyes at the husky notes of his regret.
If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. My father’s voice played gently in my head. If turnips were swords, I’d have one by my side. If I had only trusted the love my parents had for me. If I’d stayed home and faced the consequences of my string of stupid decisions that fateful night, none of us would be here now, dealing with the string of stupid decisions I’d made over the last three years. Maybe Jordan wouldn’t have been able to handle the truth back then—I wasn’t sure he could handle it even now—but seeing the unbridled way my father ran to greet me when he saw me, how this family, in whose home I was finding sanctuary, had embraced me and was now fighting tooth and nail for me, the way Jordan still looked at me… In spite of the fact that I’d run away because I was afraid o
f what they’d think of me—in spite of the fact that I’d become exactly the person I was afraid they’d think I was, my family and friends and their unconditional love had opened my eyes to all the ‘ifs’ and ‘ands’ I so desperately wished I could change.
Why had the journey home taken me so long to make?
But would I ever truly belong here again? Or had I changed too much, especially in light of the fact that they hadn’t changed at all? They had stayed faithful, consistent, and true, while I ran and hid behind a false identity.
“Savannah, I can’t change what happened today. I can’t change what happened three years ago and everything in between, no matter how badly I want to. I can’t change the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to let me help you back then, or that you didn’t trust me to help you enough once you did contact me again.”
His words were like sharp razors against my skin—well-deserved pain and bittersweet pleasure. My eyes prickled as my tears gathered, unbidden, and spilled over. Why was I crying so much these days? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried before coming home, and now I couldn’t seem to stop. Jordan reached out and brushed my cheekbone with his thumb.
“But most importantly, I can’t change the fact that I love you. And I don’t want to change the fact that I love you, so don’t for one second think that anything you do or don’t tell me can make me stop loving you, you understand?” He dipped his head toward me in an attempt to make me look at him. His eyes locked with mine, and he wouldn’t let me turn away. “I think I have loved you since the first time I noticed you perched up in your tree and realized you were there every day, watching and waiting for me to come home.” He laid his hand against my cheek, and I pressed into it, bringing my own up to cover his, holding it there. His fingers brushed the curve of my ear. “Savannah Clark, I have been here every day, watching and waiting for you to come home.”
Jordan leaned forward and kissed me softly, carefully, and I didn’t resist. Then he stepped back, smiled hesitantly, and headed down the hall toward his own room.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The week was a flurry of activity for the Ransome household. Jim worked from home so there’d always be a man around, whether I was there or not. Jordan seemed to be having a difficult time figuring out his role in my life, especially since I now spent so much time behind closed doors with his parents, dealing with things he knew so little about. He spent time with me, driving me to the hospital after he finished at the university each day, and staying nearby while I visited my mom. We didn’t talk much, at least not about anything life changing, and he didn’t try to kiss me again, or proclaim his love for me. He often put his hand on my back as we walked, and I clung to that connection. As long as he wasn’t afraid to touch me, there was hope.
I hated it. I wanted to include him, but I dreaded him knowing the worst about me. I finally asked Jim and Stella about it.
“Well,” Stella began. “The best way to get out of the dark is to turn on the light, right? Shame and humiliation love the dark. It’s their breeding ground. Talking to people who love you about what’s happened to you can be a good way to shine a light on things.”
Jim suggested I wait until we got the DNA results, mainly because they would determine our next steps, but to go ahead and tell him what I’d told them. “Then you’ll just have to let the kid figure out what to do with it all. It will be an opportunity for him to do a little growing, that’s for sure.” Jim frowned slightly and rubbed his jaw. I could hear the rasp of his day’s growth. “He’s been in a holding pattern for a while, Savannah. Not just because of you, mind you. A man who doesn’t proactively move forward inevitably begins to shrink. Jordan’s got some catching up to do. Your home coming essentially removes his excuses for being stuck, and now he’s going to have to face what he’s allowed himself to become, too.”
“It’s very sweet and romantic that he’s been waiting for you—he’s telling you the truth, you know. He hasn’t stopped loving you. But I think he’s focused so much on loving you these last few years, that he’s forgotten to make sure he’s the kind of man worthy of you loving him.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “No, Jordan is amazing. Believe me, I know what the alternative is. I’m the one with a lot of work, you guys. I’m so afraid the things I’ve done might be more than he can handle…”
Stella patted my hand—she did that a lot, it seemed. “Honey, stop. You are Savannah Clark, mother of the darling, handsome Killian Greyson Clark, daughter of Ronald and Beatrice Clark, friend to all of us, and the love of my son’s life. It’s time to stop labeling yourself as anything else, do you hear me?”
“Absolutely,” Jim concurred. “And it isn’t a question of whether or not he can handle it, Savannah. If you can handle it, the man in your life should be able to handle it, too, or he doesn’t deserve you. The question is how he’s going to handle it.”
“So now it’s time to forgive yourself and to believe us when we tell you we are putting the past behind us and starting new.”
“You don’t want to argue with her, missy.” Jim chuckled from behind his desk. “She doesn’t back down.”
“That’s how we got Tish,” she declared, shooting an adoring smile at her husband.
“Yep, she refused to back down until we hauled us in a girl. One of the better concessions on my record, I’d say.”
Tish. We still hadn’t talked since that drive home from the hospital. This was her last week before finals, then graduation, and she was busy all the time. It seemed like when I was home, she wasn’t, and vice versa, and I had a feeling that was intentional. I noticed her car parked down the block in front of my folks’ house and knew she was spending her evenings with Sebastian. I felt awful for forcing her out of her own home, but the few times I tried to approach her about it, she’d waved it off, assuring me that she wasn’t there on my account, but so that Sebastian didn’t have to spend his evenings alone. Which was silly, because I knew he had his own seat at the Ransome table. They could easily have spent their evenings there with the rest of us.
Mom didn’t come home on Thursday or Friday. She ended up spiking a fever so they decided to keep her over the weekend. On Friday afternoon, when they gave us the news she wouldn’t be going home, I knew both Mom and Dad were disappointed. So to distract them, I began telling them stories about Killian, about his bohemian life and his motley crew of friends. It must have seemed almost like fairy tales to them as I talked of pirates and Vikings, jousting and jugglers. We still hadn’t broached the circumstances around my leaving, but Dad had talked with Jim a few times and knew enough to accept that it would all eventually come out. They seemed to have accepted that and enjoyed my anecdotes without probing.
On Saturday, I came in with Jim and Stella—Killian went with Jordan to see the pets for sale at the tack and feed store where Sebastian worked. I wasn’t sure who Killian was more excited to see—the baby rabbits or Sebastian. For whatever reason, Killian adored the guy, and I was sure my son’s unfiltered adoration had smoothed down a few more of Sebastian’s rough places.
We sat around Mom’s bed, marveling at how much better she looked, despite her bright pink fevered cheeks. The bruising around her eyes had yellowed to a Tuscan sunset, and the fingers poking out of her cast no longer looked like chubby little piggies in a row. She had started hobbling to the bathroom, her sprained leg in a strap-on boot—Stella reminded us that Ani Tomlin, Tish’s best friend from across the street, had come home from Italy in one and it had hardly slowed her down at all. That was after I’d left, but Jordan had written about Ani’s Italian romance.
In fact, she and Paulo were coming back to Midtown to get married at the end of June, after spending the last year in Lucca doing some kind of social work there. Stella said Ani’s parents hoped the kids would consider moving back. “But Tish says they love living in Italy and the program they operate has come such a long way, she doesn’t think they’ll be ready to hand it over to anyone else at this
point. It makes me sad for my girl. Those two have been best friends for years, and it’s been hard living so far apart. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m truly thankful for the Internet and all their social media connections.”
After the initial greetings and some small talk, Mom suddenly took a deep breath and grabbed my hand. She pushed the button to elevate the head of her bed and angled her eyes at Dad. “Okay. I want to know what’s going on. I can handle it.”
And so, with the support of these people who loved me more than I could ever have imagined, I told my story again. But best of all, I was able to end it with good news. “The DNA test came back negative. Killian is not Marek’s son. He has no claim on him—or on me—whatsoever.” I really didn’t care who his real father was—and clearly whoever it was had no desire to be discovered—as long as it wasn’t Marek.
I still didn’t know about pressing charges against Marek for all that had happened. Now that he’d been served papers and knew he was on the radar, I had a feeling he’d probably toe the line for a while, at least while he was on the road. Marek the Gypsy King was his identity, and if he lost his work, he’d lose everything. I hoped and prayed I was right about that, because right now, I felt on the inside the way my mother looked on the outside—battered and bruised, propped up and stitched back together. I didn’t know if I had the strength or courage to do more than heal, forgive myself, and embrace my freedom right now. The attorney assured me I had some time to think about it, but he also encouraged me to start a journal and document everything the best I could remember, and to include names and contact information of anyone who might have witnessed anything incriminating. If nothing else, it would probably be cathartic.
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