by Paige North
For a second, I think they’re going to sink right back into the denial I saw when I arrived. Everything’s fine here. We’re comfortable in this mess.
But they’re watching me closely, no doubt realizing that Owen and I parted on bad terms. He ditched me. Maybe they even heard our argument outside and it was the one thing that rattled their brains enough to make them admit that they’ve got problems. Maybe that’s even compounded by the fact that they’re about to lose their beloved home.
Suddenly, Mrs. Gregory sobs, and her husband draws her against him. At her sorrow, I give in to my tears also. I wish I could go over to hug them, but I can’t with the smell and the dirt and the garbage.
I just can’t.
“He’s really gone?” Mrs. Gregory manages to ask through her tears.
I bite down on my lip and nod, sadness wracking me.
My god, he’s really gone.
I blow out a breath, then say, “He can’t do anything for you if you can’t help yourselves.”
They merely stare at me. Even Mr. Gregory has tears in his eyes.
I continue. “He told me that you’re about to be evicted. Is that what you really want? You’re about to lose this house!”
Both of them shake their heads, and that’s when I really, truly see what’s been buried beneath their facades this entire time—shame. An embarrassment that they’ve been hiding maybe for years.
They do know something’s wrong, but it’s difficult for them to admit it.
They remind me of their son—the one I let go outside, the man who probably thinks that I don’t care as much about his problems as much as the issues his parents have.
I motion around the house. “If you want Owen to ever come back, then you have to do something about it. You have to show him that you know there’s an issue.”
“And that’ll bring him back?” Mrs. Gregory says.
I don’t know what to say. I can’t make any promises.
Mrs. Gregory angles her head, her expression soft. “He left you, too, didn’t he?”
Don’t cry, Juliet. Do not cry.
I nod.
“Out on the porch,” she says, “I saw how he looked at you. He’s never looked at anyone like that. And for him to leave you behind with us...”
Mr. Gregory picks up where his wife leaves off. “He really couldn’t bring himself to stay this time.”
No one says anything else, so I shakily take my phone out of my pocket and bring up a search window, typing in the words junk removal, then showing them the screen. Mr. and Mrs. Gregory look back at me, defeated.
All we can do, I think as pain constricts in my chest, is clean up the messes we’ve all made.
And, in spite of myself, all I can do is keep hoping that Owen will drive right back to this house, saying he was wrong and that he can’t go on without me.
But he never does.
Chapter 22
Owen’s parents finally do agree to let a team of junk removal specialists into their home along with a therapist who will ease them into the process.
I check into a nearby hotel and don’t eat much during the next couple of days while the de-cluttering and cleaning happens. All the work helps me to focus and forget about Owen.
A little.
I keep telling myself that he only needs some space, some time to cool off from what must seem like my betrayal of him.
But then, every time I go to my hotel for some quick shuteye, I fall into an exhausted sleep with my phone in hand, waiting for him to contact me.
Which he doesn’t.
Even so, I can’t escape thoughts of him, because there are times when his parents remind me so much of him—the stubbornness and the darkness that they’ve all had to live with. During the cleaning process, they tell me about their other children, who are just as weary of them as Owen is, and they admit that the time had finally come to deal with what ails them.
But they also break my heart all over again by reminding me how they saw Owen looking at me on the porch.
He’s never looked at anyone like that. And for him to leave you behind with us…
But their words don’t do me much good, because Owen hasn’t contacted me.
Even so, I focus on being patient with the situation, working with the therapist to encourage them as much as possible, and in the end, we’re able to get their home cleaned and saved from being condemned by the city.
This is a small miracle that should overjoy me, but I still feel a pit of emptiness inside me.
I wonder if I’ve just cost my own siblings their safety by sticking out my neck for someone else’s family.
Just looking at Mr. and Mrs. Gregory hurts, because I also see Owen’s dark eyes in his mom’s. I see where Owen got his size in his dad’s physique, which is now so worn down because of the burdens that have been piled on him for years.
When the day comes for me to leave them, I pray that they’ll keep the house clean. Social services will try to provide them with support, but they will need to really want to stay healthy for any of this to truly work long term.
While we stand on the porch, my ride-share car waits for me. Linda and Daniel—they’re no longer “Mr. and Mrs. Gregory” after what we’ve been through—hug me. Since they’ve taken pains to clean themselves and their clothing, I embrace them back as if they’re my own parents.
We’re all teary eyed as we pull back and look at one another.
Mrs. Gregory’s smile is still missing a tooth, but it’s a lovely smile anyway. “We don’t know how to thank you.”
I remember when I said that to Owen whenever he came to my rescue, and a sob lodges in my chest.
“You know what to do from this point on,” I say. “And I know you won’t let your kids down.”
“And we won’t let you down,” Mr. Gregory says, leaning on his cane.
His wife keeps holding my hand. “Will you stay in touch?”
My heart twists. “Of course I will.” Even if they’ll remind me of Owen.
God, Owen…
I brace myself from the shredding emotions. I have to—I’m my own rock now because he isn’t here anymore.
Is he somewhere having more nightmares? Does it feel to him as if I’ve become a part of a bad dream—just one more piece of clutter that ruined his life?
I feel queasy as I say goodbye to Linda and Daniel. After I get into the car and the driver pulls onto the street, I watch them through the back window, tears streaming down my face. Their arms are around each other, and I hope they’re giving each other enough strength to get through the days ahead.
Everything goes by in a blur as I try not to think about Owen. I pack up my things at my hotel, then catch a flight home.
My friend Donna has left me the run of her house since she’s on the West Coast on business. I settle into this newest temporary home, wishing I were back in a mansion in New York, holding my breath and waiting for Owen to come to me.
The first chance I get, I make a visit to the bank to try and talk to them face-to-face about financing, but when I get there, a shock awaits me.
The loan officer smiles at me over her desk. “We were just about to inform you, Miss Hope. Your entire mortgage has been paid off. You own the house outright.”
All I can do is stare at the woman. The only explanation is that Owen did this. He had to have. But afterward, when I try to call and text him, he doesn’t answer.
Yet I do get a call later when I’m back in Donna’s home. It’s from Owen’s lawyer—the head attorney from the team that represented me when the Terrys attempted to get my sister Jasmine away from me.
“It’s a happy day, Miss Hope,” Mr. Bradley tells me. “The team has been coordinating the return of all your siblings behind the scenes. Your brothers and sisters are all coming back to you in a week’s time.”
Huh?
I start laughing wildly. “You’re not joking with me, are you? How…? When…?”
But he only instructs me that we’
ll be in further touch soon. I don’t even have time to tell him that I don’t have a home for the kids to come back to.
As my mind turns with suspicions, I drive the beat-up car I kept at Donna’s to my family’s place. When I arrive to find that a contracting team is already working on the repairs and improvements, I nearly fall to my knees.
I find out that, once again, all this has been paid for by “my guardian angel.”
I’m bursting with gratitude, but Owen still won’t take my calls. His silence is telling me that these are his parting gifts to me. He’s obviously happy with how I helped his parents, or maybe he simply feels guilty about the way he treated me in the end.
Or maybe he’s only soothing his own conscience and nothing more.
Whatever the case, I’m over the moon, but the joy always quickly subsides like a wave, the shattered remains of my broken heart revealed, sharp and wounding.
I really did fall for Owen despite my better judgment. I fell hard.
And, dear god, I miss him so, so much.
“Surprise!”
A chorus of happy voices jars me out of my sleep, and I startle up in bed, opening my eyes to see four angels surrounding me.
Jemma, my sweet-sixteen sister who looks so much like me. Jason, the dark-haired “man of the house” at fourteen years old. Jake, who’s slightly younger and covered with impish freckles, and, of course, little eleven-year-old Jasmine with her braided red hair.
Jason shoves a wrapped gift at me as they all beam.
“Happy birthday, Jules!” he says.
They all clap while plopping down to my bed. I smile, cradling the gift to my chest. With all that’s going on, I’d almost forgotten that today, a sunny Saturday, is my birthday.
Things have been so busy ever since my siblings returned. Things have also been bittersweet, because I wish my parents were here to see them.
I wish Owen were around to meet them.
In spite of the joy of reuniting, there is so much loss.
So much grieving to do in the midst of being happy…
I still miss my parents every second of every day. But beyond that, I miss him too.
Owen.
The thought of him still makes me ache, but I’m doing my best not to think of him anymore, even though I’m surrounded by the new smell of the refurbished house around us, the sight of new paint, furniture, carpeting, and windows.
Even after these first days and weeks of getting our lives back to some sense of normalcy, everything is fresh, including the hole in my heart.
“Well,” Jemma says, gesturing toward the gift. “Are you gonna just sit there or are you gonna open it?”
“I didn’t expect any presents,” I say. “We should be saving every bit of money for the future.”
“Open, open…” Jake starts the chant, and the others join in.
“Open, open…”
I tear into the wrapping, much to their delight, and then open the box. Inside are a bunch of handmade coupons.
I go through them. “A day at the beach with my favorite people in the world. Roller skating at the rink with Jazzie. A fishing trip with the boys. A gourmet meal from the budding Chef Jemma.” By the time I’m done leafing through the papers, I’m overcome, and I hug all of them to me. “Like I said, you didn’t have to get me anything. Having you guys here is all the gift I need.”
And Owen gave that very special gift to me…
I clear my throat and wipe away a tear as I back away from them. The boys roll their eyes at my emotion, because there’s been a lot of it lately. Some of it because I’m just so happy to be with them again. Some of it because we’ll never see our parents.
A lot of it because now, more than ever, I feel like I can’t live without the man who has such a hold on me, even if he deserted me. But if there’s one consolation, it’s that he’s in contact with his parents now—or so they’ve told me. He’s even paying for their therapy.
At least there’s a happy ending in progress there.
Jemma takes my hand and pulls me out of bed. “Up and about, Jules. The only catch to having that gourmet dinner and a birthday cake is that you need to take me to the store. Unless, of course, you want to get cracking on teaching me how to drive!”
The other kids boo at the very thought of daredevil Jemma behind the wheel, and I reach out to mess up her red hair.
“Let’s concentrate on the food first,” I say.
After I shower and get ready for the day, I make sure the kids are squared away, then drive Jemma to the store. But even though I started out in high spirits, they wear off quickly. They always do with thoughts of Owen around to haunt me.
Jemma notices my dampened mood as we shop, but she doesn’t remark on it. The kids already know that something profound happened to me while we were all separated, but how can I tell them that I signed up to be a call girl, then I went and fell in love with my client?
As it is, they think that I’ve been running crowdfunding campaigns online that have subsidized all the miracles that have been happening to us with the house and the lawyers.
On the way home, Jemma watches me even more closely, and I know she’s about to interrogate me.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” she asks instead.
My heart mends a stitch, but there are so many more stitches I need in order to be whole again. “I love you, too.”
“I’m only telling you because I know something’s up. I’m not dumb, you know. You think that no one’s watching when you stare out the window sometimes. There’s such a sad look in your eyes, Jules.”
I only nod, feeling the numbness steal over me once again.
As Jemma keeps staring at me, I do my best to smile at her. “All that matters is that we’re together again. If I have one birthday wish, it’s that everyone would remember that.”
Based on the look in her eyes, she knows I have another wish that I’m keeping all to myself: I wish Owen would at least call.
That would be a start.
We drive down our street, and our neighbors wave, obviously elated that our house is in order again and the Hope kids have been reunited. I pull into the driveway, not seeing anything out of the ordinary at first.
Not until Jemma says, “Who’s that?”
I don’t see whom she’s talking about until I stop the car, cut the engine, and unbuckle my seat belt.
There’s a perfect, tall, very built man in a gray tailored suit sitting on my porch’s steps, his dark gaze trained on the car. He’s holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a bloom of color and light. Jason, Jake, and Jazzie are all sitting next to him as if fascinated by whatever he’s saying.
He slowly stands as he sees me.
My mind scrambles, because I have to be imagining things. He can’t be here, not just out of the blue like this. It wouldn’t be like him to interrupt his rigidly scheduled life for an out-of-the-way trip for me, of all people.
It wouldn’t make sense for him to drop everything that protects him in favor of accepting me and all of my messes.
But it looks like he’s here, and as my mind clears, I can only think one word.
Owen.
Chapter 23
The air seeps out of me as Jemma pokes me in the arm with her elbow.
“Who is that?” she asks. “Because we definitely didn’t order him up to deliver flowers for your birthday. I mean, I wish I’d thought of it, but… Are you even listening, Jules?”
I still don’t know what to say as I stare at Owen.
My teenaged sister hops out of the car. She has to come around to my side to open my door. When she starts pulling me out, I don’t move.
I just sit there as Owen watches me while still holding the flowers. Funny, even the flowers can be a shield for him—but then he lowers them as I see something deep and profound in his eyes, even from here.
“Jules!” Jemma whispers. “You’re freaking me out.”
Freaking out… Yes, that’s definitely what
I’m doing as Owen starts to walk toward the car.
Panicked, I reach over to start the engine again, but that doesn’t make sense. Nothing about what I’m feeling right now makes sense as emotion surges in me like an off-balance chemical rush—sadness, uncertainty, anger taking me over.
Then I remember the last time we saw each other: Owen saying that he never wanted to see me again right before he left me and never came back…
I break down into the tears that have been threatening me ever since he left. I cry into my hands, covering my face so that no one can see what a true mess I am now.
Why is he here? Does he think flowers are going to solve something?
“Jules?” I hear Jemma saying.
Then I hear Owen’s voice, slightly out of breath as if he ran the rest of the way over here. “Juliet?”
I feel his big hand slide onto my arm as if he wants to hold me, comfort me, but in a flash of confused, blurred, teary rage, I burst out of the car. Suddenly I’m beating on Owen’s chest, and it feels like rock beneath my fists.
“I hate you!” I yell. “I hate all your stupid compulsive rules and habits and everything you stand for!”
I pummel him again and again, but he merely stands there and takes it. Through my tears I see that Jason has run up behind Owen to take the flowers from him before I beat those to a pulp, too, and the thought that my own brother is helping the man who broke my heart pisses me off even more.
“Juliet, I was a coward.”
I pull my hand back from giving Owen another punch as his words echo around me. A latent sob shudders through me as I look up at him and blink back tears.
“What did you say?” I ask in a shaky voice.
“I said I was a coward. I ran away from you and your messy, chaotic reality and everything it represented.”
He’s not stiff or tense. There’s something very open about him now, and I keep my fist raised. But I’m listening, even as the blood jams in my veins, urging me to run away because I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me again, that there’ll be more emotional pain in my near future.
