Come to Me Alive

by Leah Atwood

  Bryce cracked open his soda, raising it for a toast. “To manly food.”

  “To manly food,” Adam and Rob echoed, each raising their can to meet his.

  An hour later, the guys left and Bryce’s surly mood returned. He slid his phone out of his pocket, then plopped down in the black leather recliner and pressed the power button, holding it down until the screen lit up. He held the phone as far as his arm would extend, staring it at, grappling with his decision.

  To call his parents or not.

  The right thing to do was obvious, but man, he wasn’t looking forward to it. A series of beeps came from his phone. A full minute had passed before they silenced. That’s what he got for turning it off.

  Four new text messages and a group of pictures within one of them. Gram had sent him images of Gracie holding up her Student of the Week certificate. In the first one, Gracie gripped the paper tightly with both hands, a proud smile beaming from her mouth. By the final picture, she wore her is-this-over-yet expression with bored eyes and slumped shoulders. Knowing Gram and her non-propensity for using the camera on her cell phone, the impromptu photo shoot probably took a good half hour. Nevertheless, the pictures made him smile.

  Gram had left him a voicemail as well, informing him that his parents had called there also. He hated that his grandparents were caught in the middle, but Gram must have known where his thoughts would go, because she assured him at the end of her message of the joy Gracie had brought them and how happy they were to be there for him.

  The remaining messages were from his parents. Again. Without shame, he deleted them, not listening to the messages in their entirety. He’d hear it all soon enough. Restlessness came over him. The air in the house felt stale and suffocating. Cool air brushed over him when he went back out to the patio. A cold front had moved in, bringing temperatures more common in late October and November than September. His short-sleeve T-shirt did little to ward off the bite, but he didn’t mind. He needed the fresh air.

  The vinyl siding was cold against his back when he leaned against it. Why couldn’t anything in his life ever be simple? Responsibility for most of it lay with him, sure, but would he ever catch a break? He kicked at a fallen leaf, its brittle remains crumbling into pieces. Was he like the leaf? No, he was stronger. He’d fallen but climbed up.

  No longer a child, he didn’t need his parents’ validation. He’d be a dead man if he held his breath waiting for their approval. Though he’d long since accepted that as fact, it didn’t stop the burn on the few occasions he allowed it more than a passing thought.

  Which would he rather deal with first— His father’s condescension or mother’s histrionics? Neither choice was appealing, but his mother won out. Rubbing his temples, he mentally prepped himself for the conversation.

  Each ring of his mother’s phone line gave him hope she wouldn’t answer and he could leave a message, thus fulfilling his duty. His shoulders sagged. That wasn’t a solution either—it would only prolong the inevitable, and he’d rather have the conversation and be done with it.

  “Bryce?” Darla Landry’s voice was weepy and uncertain.

  It caught him off guard. “Yes, Mother.”

  “Don’t hang up. Give me a minute.”

  “I called you. Why would I hang up?” His eyes rolled. Sounds of rustling ensued and the other line was muffled as if someone had their hand over the microphone.

  “Your father was in the room. I had to step outside.”

  Confusion set in. His mother was not her normal self—she almost seemed skittish and uncertain, not the poised, distant mother he’d always known. He wasn’t sure what to do with this side of her. “How are you?”

  “Terrible. Imagine finding out from your friends, who saw it online, that you have a grandchild whom you knew nothing about.” She sniffled.

  “Sorry, Mother. I assumed since Father and you had no interest in my life beyond critiquing it that my child would experience a similar fate.” A few tears couldn’t erase years of being shoved aside.

  “Was I that horrible of a mother?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” He bit his tongue before he said more.

  “Don’t be contrary. I did the best I could. Your father and I never wished to have children. We knew we were ill-equipped to be parents, but you came along as a surprise.”

  His annoyance grew to a new level and one arm flew, regardless that his mother couldn’t see. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? At least you’re finally admitting that you never wanted me.”

  “Calm down.” The poised, unaffected mother made a brief return. “I never said we didn’t want you, only that you came as a surprise we hadn’t anticipated.”

  “Same difference.” Invisible hammers struck against his temples.

  “There’s a huge difference. I’ve done a lot of contemplating and reflecting today.” Another sniffle brought back the newly-emotional mother he was unaccustomed to. “Perhaps I could have been… No, I know I could have been a better mother. I should have encouraged your interests and accepted that you weren’t like your father and me. There were times I should have stood up for you and what you wanted instead of siding with your father when I knew he was wrong. But that never meant I didn’t love you.”

  Bryce stood and walked off the patio, into a small clearing before the woods began. The way this conversation was going, he’d have to grab a fishing pole afterward and take a walk down to the creek. He wanted to trust his mother, but he couldn’t give in— not that easily. Tomorrow, when the shock of Gracie wore off, she’d very likely change her tune. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered with a surprising honesty. Weariness and regret lay heavy in her tone. “Will you tell me about Grace?”

  “We call her Gracie, and she’s the best thing to happen to me.” The knots in his shoulders loosened ever so slightly. Gracie could make him smile no matter what the situation.

  “Why is she with Gene and Adele?”

  He couldn’t hear any judgment in her tone, only curiosity. “Gramps and Gram are taking care of her while I get my life in a position to keep her with me.”

  “Where’s her mother?”

  “She passed away.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Your friend Shelly from high school passed away last year. Two years ago, I saw her at the mall. She called out for ‘Gracie’ and a little girl came running to her.”

  Of course, people from home would start putting things together, but he hadn’t realized his mother even remembered Shelly. “Yes, Shelly is Gracie’s mom. However, it’s a story I don’t feel comfortable sharing with you at this point.”

  “I understand.”

  A snide comment was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. She appeared to be making an effort—he could try to reciprocate. “Maybe one day, Mom…” He trailed off, immediately kicking himself for slipping into a less formal address toward his mother.

  “Could I... Do you think I could meet Gracie?”

  A heavy sigh came out from deep within his chest, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Can we build up to that? She’s been through a lot in her short life.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was wobbly, teetering on another outbreak of tears.

  “Does Father know you want to meet her?”

  “No,” she whispered. “He’s still adjusting to the idea.”

  Uh-huh. Sure. Kind of like he was still adjusting to the idea of being a father, not a dictator, twenty-eight years later. “Gracie’s out of school and home by three-thirty. If you can call me then, I’ll make it a conference call and you can talk to her.”

  “I can do that. I’ll have to change some things and switch them around, but I can do it.”

  “Okay, but let me be clear on one thing. Do not call Gramps and Gram, harassing them again. And give Father that same message. It’s wrong on many levels, especially when they’ve gone out of their way to help Gracie and me. They
might be polite about your intrusions, but I won’t be.”

  “I know, Bryce. That was your father. I’ll see what I can do about him. I always did like Gene and Adele.” A hint of wistfulness inflected in her tone.

  Was it possible his mother was much more than met the eye? Had his father’s brisk and demanding attitude also affected her over the years? It was a thought to ponder. Maybe she really did have a small, nurturing side to her. Or maybe age was giving her wisdom. Time would tell.

  On an impulse, he sent Sophie a text after the talk with his mother. He would have called, but didn’t want to wake her if she was asleep, which she probably was. Back inside, he went to the office and loaded his e-mail program. Caroline had sent over instructions for tomorrow that he still had to review. He printed them out, along with his boarding pass for the flight tomorrow morning.

  He hated flying. If it were up to him, he’d drive everywhere. Give him open roads any day over the sky. Unfortunately for him, Caroline had booked him on one of the night shows tomorrow night and a morning show the next day. Driving wasn’t an option since he had to be back to Nashville on Friday night for another charity event.

  Too bad Sophie couldn’t make the trip up to see him this weekend. Fundraising events could be tedious, but this one was for his charity of choice, a local children’s hospital. When he’d been a rising star, he’d been advised to pick a charity to support. He hadn’t searched long or hard. Once he discovered the children’s hospital, he’d felt an instant draw to them. Since then, he’d established an easy rapport with them. They could count on him for any help he could give.

  Since discovering he had a daughter, he’d been doing even more for the hospital, had a new awareness and understanding of the importance of their work. Many times in the last year, when he was having a rough day, he’d go down and visit with the kids. Their positive outlooks and hopeful spirits would put things into perspective.

  Sophie would love the weekend’s event, especially because the kids had gotten involved. All the long-term patients worked diligently to form a talent show, and he’d be the emcee for the night. There had been a lot of opposition at first, due to health concerns, but the details had been pounded out until the doctors gave the clearance. There was no choice but to have it on location in the hospital, but there needed to be a space large enough to host the event. The cafeteria was the only feasible option and then there was doubt that people would pay five grand a ticket to sit in the cafeteria. To everyone’s surprise, every last ticket was sold, and a wait list created that stretched into the hundreds. Being a part of it gave him great satisfaction.

  First, he had to get through these appearances.

  Upstairs, he threw a suitcase on his bed and started packing. A few pairs of jeans, several of his shirts and necessities. The bed vibrated, and he searched for his phone. He lifted clothes and shoes until he found it hiding between two shirts. Sophie was awake and had texted him back.

  —Much better. Took a nap and feel almost myself. Must’ve eaten something bad.

  —Good. Up for a Skype chat?

  —I look terrible.

  —I don’t think that’s possible. Phone then?

  —That works. Everything okay?

  —I’m calling you.

  The phone was already ringing before she could respond.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she asked, still sounding sick. Or maybe sleepy.

  “I won’t keep you long—I know it’s late and you have to be up early, but I wanted to tell you I talked to my mom tonight.”

  A pause. He could almost see her sitting up straighter and her ears perking to attention. “How’d that go?”

  “Strange. Surreal. Not like any other conversation I’ve ever had with her. For once, she acted like she cared. She wants to meet Gracie.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “I don’t know.” He sat down on the edge of his mattress. “Can a leopard ever change its spots?”

  Through the phone, Sophie’s deep intake of breath followed by a slow exhale was profound. “You did.”

  “Touché,” he muttered, grudgingly conceding he was no one to judge or second guess. “I told her we could do a three-way call tomorrow, introduce Gracie to her gradually.”

  Sophie became his cheerleader again. “Smart idea. You’re a good dad. A lot of men would have crumpled under the circumstances, but you’re fighting for Gracie’s best interests. She’s a lucky girl.”

  “Any chance of convincing you to fly up this weekend?” He knew the answer but couldn’t help hoping.

  “To see you? I wish.”

  “But?”

  “I can’t, so it doesn’t matter,” she deferred.

  “You’d love the fundraiser. It’s an event I can envision you helping to plan one day.” He hinted at a serious future for them, feeling out her response.

  “I’m sure I would. If I didn’t have my own fundraiser for the school this weekend, I’d give it more thought.”

  “Another time, then.” He knew she wouldn’t have come this weekend, even if she didn’t have her own obligations.

  He dropped the issue, wishing, now, he hadn’t brought it up. Since the night TEW showed up at her house, she’d backed away at any mention of coming to visit him and that made him nervous. It was as though, as long as they only saw each other in Oden Bridge, everything was fine and his status as a celebrity didn’t bother her. Yet, she avoided any immersion into his world of music.

  He couldn’t blame her, not exactly, but they couldn’t pretend forever. As blissful as it sounded, they couldn’t exist solely in Oden Bridge, nor could their relationship thrive if they ignored a large part of who he was. He understood she needed more time. Patience was a virtue he’d never been too keen on practicing, but if it kept Sophie in his life, he would learn to wait it out.

  In the meantime, he’d continue to pray that they could find a balance.

  Chapter 19

  “Have fun in art class. When you come back, we’ll have a vocabulary test.”

  Groans circled the classroom from everyone but Addison Monroe. She raised her hand and boasted that she knew every word on the list and could spell them forward and backward. Sophie bit back a chuckle. Addison had a tendency to brag, but she was a sweet girl.

  “You’ll have a chance to show off your knowledge this afternoon. I want each of you to behave today and listen to Mrs. Aarons. If I receive reports of talking and interrupting, then the entire class will lose five minutes of recess when school resumes Tuesday. Do you understand?” She looked around the room, giving the students her best teacher-means-it look.

  Mid-October and no one had missed recess yet this month, but the school’s art teacher, Lacey Aarons, had told her yesterday she’d spent the first ten minutes of class getting the kids to quiet down and listen. This year, her students were good kids, but every last one of them was talkative, not a shy one in the group. The dynamic made for interesting days, but she’d learned the first week of school she’d have to be firm with consequences—otherwise, they’d never accomplish any learning.

  “Yes, Miss Thatcher,” the students called out, forming a single line against the wall.

  She opened the heavy wood door and directed the students into the hallway. Morgan Roth, a floating substitute, was walking down the hall toward her, with an ever-present smile on her face.

  “Mr. Bergeron sent me to take your students to art class. He wants to see you in his office.” Morgan leaned in close. “Now.”

  “Ooh. Miss Thatcher is in trouble,” Joel Smith called out in a singsong voice.

  Sophie shot the young student a warning look before glancing back to Morgan. “Did he say what about?”

  “No, only gave me instructions to cover for you until your planning period.”

  “That’s now, once the kids are with Mrs. Aarons.”

  “Go on ahead and talk to Mr. Bergeron. I’ve got this under control.”

  “Thanks, Morgan.”

  Why did
the principal want to speak with her? It must be important or he would have waited a few minutes until her planning period officially began, or left a note in her inner-office mailbox. She wasn’t worried that she’d done something wrong—she never strayed much from the book, and she had no strikes on her record. But for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what was so important.

  “Good afternoon, Sophie. Mr. Bergeron is in his office waiting for you.” Kathleen Doucet, the school’s secretary, gave her a smile, upping Sophie’s curiosity a notch. The secretary wasn’t unfriendly, but neither was she known for a cheery disposition.

  She walked back a short hallway and knocked on the principal’s open door. Mr. Bergeron looked up from his computer and waved her in.

  “Thanks for coming so promptly. A delivery came for you a short time ago.”

  “The backordered readers, we’ve been waiting for?” She leaned forward a bit in anticipation. That would make her day. Every week the publisher promised they’d arrive the next week, and they still hadn’t.

  The principal shook his head. “Not that kind of delivery, I’m afraid.”

  “Then what?” By now, she was thoroughly confused.

  “It’s in the teacher’s lounge,” he said, pushing away from his desk. “Walk with me.”

  Strange. Very strange. She wished Mr. Bergeron’s expression would give some sort of indication what was going on, but his face remained impassive. In step with him, they passed out of the offices, down the main corridor of the school and entered a room attached to the front of the cafeteria.

  “Your delivery, Miss Thatcher.” The principal finally smiled as he opened the door to the teachers’ lounge. “Someone wanted to wish you a very happy birthday.”

  What? She took a second to put his words together. The day had been so busy, she’d forgotten about her birthday tomorrow. She scanned the room and saw five bouquets of flowers on each of the four rectangular tables.

  “All of them?” she asked, stuttering from shock.