Chapter Eleven
By the time James and Lydia pulled into the driveway later that evening, I had my bags packed and waiting by the door. My sister looked a little startled when I grabbed the bags immediately after giving them both a hug and said, “It’s been an adventure, but I’m ready to go home.” I threw my bag over my shoulder and grabbed my keys off the side table. “Oh, and the boys still need dinner. The oven seemed like too big of a risk after the way this weekend has gone.”
Lydia blinked at me several times, then shook off her shock and confusion when I turned away. “Greenly, wait! What’s going on? Did something happen?”
“I’m just tired and I want to go home,” I called back at her without turning around as I hopped off the stoop and made for my car. I half expected her to run after me, but one of the boys calling for her stalled her long enough that I made it to my destination without any further harassment. It was a relief to pull out of her driveway, and an even bigger one when I left their neighborhood.
The anxiety didn’t completely leave me, because I kept imagining Roman and Jen lying in bed together, but distance helped. Pulling up next to an apartment I knew would be empty made me briefly consider getting a roommate. I tossed such craziness away a moment later. Me live with someone outside of a college dorm? That would go well, I was sure. The closest I had ever come to something like that was…last night, with Roman. No exactly a success story.
Sighing, I dragged myself out of the car and up to my apartment door. Something sitting on the welcome mat caught my eye and I scowled. Cursing the neighbors for setting loosely tied bags of garbage outside the door for days until someone got around to hauling them to the dumpsters was enough to irritate anyone. Not picking up the trash that blew out of the bags and got stuck in front of my porch, that was the sort of thing that made a person want to get into a screaming match.
Whatever bag the trash had fallen out of was no longer on the porch, so I snatched it up and carried it inside, tossing it at my own garbage can and missing. I shuffled toward it, intent on picking it up, when my phone rang. Expecting Lydia, I was surprised when an unknown number popped up on the screen. Usually I ignored calls like that, but the apartment seemed too quiet.
“Hello?”
Greeted by a hesitant silence, I almost hung up. Then a little voice said, “Miss Greenly?”
“Sammy?” I asked in confusion. “How did you get my phone number?” I realized after I said that how harsh it sounded. I was only surprised, not upset, but uncertainty had added a bite to my words.
“Um, I borrowed my dad’s phone. Miss Lydia gave him your phone number before they went on their trip.” Silence again. “Is that okay? Are you mad?”
“No,” I said gently as I lowered myself onto my thrift store couch. “I’m not mad. Of course not. You can call me if you want. Is everything all right?”
He made a little noise I thought was meant to be reassuring, but in reality sounded the tiniest bit scared. All the tension I’d been carrying around over Roman evaporated. Not because it had been resolved, but because Sammy was more important in that moment. “Hey, what’s wrong, buddy?”
His breathing stuttered as he drew in a long breath. “My mom was really mad when she saw the office room. She yelled at my dad for, um, forcing her out. She’s still yelling at him, and now he’s yelling at her. She got mad last time she was here, too. That time it was because Dad had changed all the locks and her keys didn’t work anymore.”
Letting my head fall back against the couch, I felt terrible for this little boy. No wonder he had shied away from her that afternoon. All she brought was fighting and fear for him. Maybe things had been different once, but these were the memories that stuck in his young mind. Anger welled in the center of my chest, and I was surprised to find it directed toward Roman instead of Jen.
Jen was clearly a narcissist who used people and ran them over in order to get what she wanted. I didn’t expect anything better from her. Roman, though, I was shocked he would not only allow Jen to stay in his home when she scared Sammy like this, but that he would let her push him into fighting in front of their son. He was so focused on protecting Sammy in every other situation. In the face of Sammy’s silence, I could hear raised voices in the background, muted like he had shut himself away but couldn’t fully escape it.
“Where are you right now?” I asked him.
“In my bedroom. Under my bed.”
And he could still hear them fighting? I shook my head. “Do you have any books in your room?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “I have lots of books.”
“Why don’t you get your favorite one, and then I want you to read it to me, okay?”
He hesitated. “You’ll listen to me read to you on the phone?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Oh, okay.” He sounded so surprised, I wondered if he had asked the same of Jen at one time and been denied. There was a lot of muffled shuffling and shoving of things as he searched his room for the book he wanted. Eventually, he succeeded, and the grunting I heard after that suggested he was crawling back under his bed to read. “Do you know about Clone Wars?”
It took me a second to understand his question. “From Star Wars, right? You and Colby like the cartoon about that, don’t you?”
“It’s our favorite.” More shuffling said he was settling in, then he paused. “Are you too old to listen to a Clone Wars chapter book? I can’t read bigger books by myself yet.”
“I’ve watched the show with Colby and Evan,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll be fine. I don’t think there’s an age limit.”
While I didn’t think he believed me on the age limit, he didn’t let it stop him from reading. I’m not sure how long I sat there listening to him read. I might have been nodding off a little toward the end. Not because I wasn’t interested. It had just been a really long weekend.
“Miss Greenly,” Sammy said suddenly, jolting me fully awake. “I have to go. My dad is calling for me.”
“Oh, okay. Is everything okay now?” I asked.
He mumbled something that sounded similar to Colby’s standard “I dunno” grumble. “I think my mom wants to go eat dinner. She stopped yelling anyway.”
I mentally crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t start it up again, and that Roman had told her she needed to get a hotel, more for Sammy’s sake than even my own selfish need for reassurance. “I hope you have a good dinner.”
It sounded like he was crawling out from under his bed and I heard Roman’s muted voice calling for him. Sammy yelled that he was coming, then said, “Can I call you again next time?”
I hated that he expected there would be a next time. “Sure, buddy. Call whenever you want. If I’m in class or at work I might not be able to answer, but you can text me, too, okay?”
A relieved rush of air burst into the speaker. “Thanks, Miss Greenly. I’m glad you’re my friend.”
“I’m glad you’re my friend, too,” I said as tears welled in my eyes.
He left me with a hasty goodbye and ended the call. When I dropped my phone onto the coffee table, my apartment felt even emptier.
The Crazy Girl's Handbook Page 12
